


The Beast of Beddgelert

by QuinnCliff



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: (although they're not detectives), Alternate Universe, Angst, Brother-Sister Relationships, Case Fic, Everybody loves John, F/M, Friendship, Georgian Period, Graphic Description of Corpses, Historical Inaccuracy, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Investigations, Jealous Mycroft, Jealousy, M/M, Minor Character Death, Mystery, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, POV Alternating, Possessive Behavior, Possessive Sherlock, Rivalry, Romance, Sibling Rivalry, Violence, Younger John, Younger Sherlock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-09-18
Updated: 2017-05-09
Packaged: 2018-02-17 22:23:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 26
Words: 53,185
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2325335
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/QuinnCliff/pseuds/QuinnCliff
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>In 1764, a mysterious creature starts a series of attacks in a small Welsh village called Beddgelert. The Holmes Brothers waste no time in investigating the case. But when a foreign boy named John Watson arrives in the village, they will have to deal with much more complicated issues.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The odds go to the hunter

**Author's Note:**

> Hi there everyone! :D Welcome to my newest fic!  
>  So, I need to say a few things. First, this story is based on a true case known as The Beast of Gévaudan, in France. So far nobody has a clue of what killed all the 113 people from the village. But worry not, my story will have a proper ending! (:  
>  Also, as said before this fic is set in 1764 in Wales, not England. Yes, that means the Holmes Brothers just as any other character (except for John & Harry) is Welsh, I had to take this liberty for the sake of the plot. Sorry for any period inaccuracy!  
>  Another thing, Beddgelert is a true village but unfortunately I've never been there, so all the descriptions and facts are results from researches. If you know the place and want to correct/help please be my guest! :D Oh, the legend at the beginning is also true according to the townspeople. Just for the record: John is 18, Sherlock 19, Mycroft 28 and Sherrinford 23. Alright, I said too much lol Sorry, but was needed.  
>  Anyway, I apologize beforehand for all the mistakes. This is not beta'd or britpicke'd. If any of you want to me my beta, I'd be glad (: Okay, let's get to business. Hope you enjoy it! :D 

 

_It is said that in the 13th century, Ilywelyn, Prince of North Wales went hunting without Gelert, his faithful hound, who was oddly absent. When he returned it was only to find the dog greeting him with a muzzle covered in blood, and his baby son missing. Believing the animal had killed his infant, the raged Prince pulled his sword and slaughtered Gelert right there. The yelp of the dying dog startled the baby who began to cry from his hidden safe place under the cradle. Confused, the Prince caught the baby and realized there was a dead wolf close by. It was obvious to the Prince now what had happened: Gelert bravely had killed the wolf to protect the baby. He prepared a great ceremony to honor the hound, but there is no cry that can bring a loved one back. And so the Prince filled with remorse never smiled again. It is said he heard the dying yelp every day after the occurrence until the day of his own death._

**__ **

* * *

Demeter didn’t bother to look at the sky. She knew exactly what she would find out if she did: the same old cloudy and grey blur. When she was a fool child she used to ask her mother the reason why the Sun didn’t seem to like their village. Her mother smiled that annoyingly gentle smile that meant Demeter was being an idiot, and said that the clouds looked over the community. Demeter had only nodded and gone outside to play leaving the subject behind. But now looking back at the conversation she knew how stupid her mother’s answer had been. It was obvious the clouds were not there to protect them, they were there to mock their fantastic ability of being constant tedious. If it depended on her she would have left the bloody village long ago, but as her father liked to remember she was a damsel and should do as they said until she get married, and then she should do as her husband said. Demeter clenched her teeth at that thought. No way would they force her to be stuck with someone she didn’t love for the rest of her life. She would go away before it happened, no matter the consequences, because any consequence would be better than to die a slow death beside some random provincial man. Just like her sister.

Demeter sighed and kept walking. Her mother had asked her to go to the woods so she could pick some flowers for her sister’s wedding. But not just any flower; she needed to get Snowdon Lily. They were Georgina’s favorite. Demeter knew the task was a punishment, her mother was pretty aware that the girl hated ordinary activities such as flower collecting and sewing. The problem was that Demeter got caught playing with her cousin behind their family’s mausoleum using some of her uncle’s forbidden chemicals to analyze the reactions in some animal’s carcass. Her mother and her aunt had screamed and whined all over their faces, cursing and asking god for forgiveness. The two young only rolled their eyes and prepared for what would come next. No sooner said than done, Sherlock was locked up in his room and Demeter was ordered to go get those stupid flowers. She would rather have stayed locked in her room as well, at least there she had her adored books.

As she entered the woods a strong wind almost took her off her balance and she had to hold the straw basket tighter with her left hand. Her dark green dress swirled high around her body and her curled brown hair danced wildly on her head. She waited until it was gone to keep moving on. She looked up and could almost be scared with how tall the trees were if she wasn’t so fascinated by them. Demeter thought that the entity of the forest was a mysterious and beautiful thing worthy of studies and poems. Feeling more appeased by the sight, Demeter started to look for the white flowers.

Demeter had smart eyes just like any self-respecting Holmes so it was easy for her to gather a considerable amount of Snowdon Lilies in a short period of time. When she felt satisfied with her flower-full basket, she smirked smugly and turned around to go back from the way she came. And that was when she heard the first growl. Low and far but nonetheless intimidating. Demeter stopped on her tracks for a moment, apprehensively paying attention to her surroundings. She was not the kind to be afraid easily, quite the opposite, but the growl made her arm hairs stand up and a shiver run down her spine. The thing is she had never ever heard a sound like that. Of course she knew a dog’s growl, but that was not it.

When everything seemed to be quiet, Demeter breathed in relief and continued to go ahead. Her eyes and ears were alert as she walked; her knuckles were white with how tight she was grabbing the handle of the basket. For some minutes there was nothing but the rush of the river and the whispers of the wind. She finally felt calmer and decided to slow her steps so she wouldn’t stumble on a root and fell down spilling all of the flowers on the ground, ruining her entire work. Demeter knew she was reaching the end of the forest when she spotted her beloved rock where she had left her cloak just waiting for her some meters ahead. The corner of her lips twitched up and she walked a little faster until she heard again. But this time the growl was louder and followed by heavy footsteps coming from a spot near her. Demeter didn’t know if she should stop or run; finally she decided for the last one.

Grabbing the basket with both hands she ran as fast as she could with the limitations of her dress. Demeter didn’t care to understand _what_ was hunting her, it didn’t matter at the moment, and all she wanted was to live. She felt her face flushed and her chest going up and down heavily with her panted breaths. For all the time she ran she was aware of big eyes on her back. Somewhere in the back of her mind she realized the creature wasn’t in its full speed, it was as if it was purposely contained to hunt her slowly, to _scare_ her. She didn’t give it too much thought though, for she was more worried about becoming its meal than to analyze its intentions.

When she finally reached the rock, she looked at the sky for the first time that day. Sunshine touched her face, coming from a chink between the dark clouds. Demeter’s eyes narrowed and a single tear fell down across her face whilst she cursed the morbid sense of humor.

 

* * *

John rested his head against the carriage’s window, yawning widely as sleep tried to wash over him. He shook his shoulders and blinked a couple of times to scare it away. John knew there would be nothing wrong if he took a nap, but he just couldn’t bring himself to do so while Harry slept so deeply beside him. They were so used to take turns at their old house that he thought it was hard to let go of the habit. _There’s no danger here, John, you can sleep_ , he tried to tell himself. Turning his head to look at his sister he smiled sadly at the sight of her tired body snuggled under her dark red blanket. Her golden hair was all stuck to her round face and she had the most honest expression John had ever seen on her. Harry always tried to be the stronger one, the protective one, the wiser one. Most of the times she wasn’t so bad, but John knew how hard was for her to handle everything; it was obvious on her eyes. Her sleepy face showed how young she really was, how vulnerable she truly felt. John’s chest filled with warmth and love for his brave sister.

She was the one who started it; their escape. Truth be told, they both had had enough. All the fights, all the aggressions, all the pain and agony they suffered since their mother died when they were only children. Harry and John would both have scars mentally and physically for the rest of their lives, but now they had the chance to start all over again in a new place. All thanks to Harriet. Two nights before they began their journey to Beddgelert, Harry snapped and took matters into her own hands; helped by John and someone else in some points. After it they both got inside the carriage paid to take them to the village where their aunt lived. They were not sure she still lived there, though, since they hadn’t seen the woman for a long time. But the siblings had no choice; the old woman was their last hope. If she was dead or had moved out, they would wander homeless with nothing to eat throughout the country. John shook his head and tried to keep the pessimistic thoughts away, which was almost impossible since he never had positive things to look forward to.

“Johnny?” Harry’s raspy voice spoke, startling him out of his reveries.

“Hey, sister”, John answered fondly. “Slept well?”

 Harry straightened her body and stretched. “Not really… I had a nightmare.”

John frowned, “About him?”

Harry nodded, “And about you. You… Were hurt, really hurt.”

John grabbed her hand squeezed. “It’s okay, Harry, I’m here safe and sound now. Thanks to you”, he smiled.

Harry’s eyes were sad but there was also a hint of relief there. She leaned forward and pressed a kiss to her baby brother’s forehead. “Oh Johnny, we are both survivors, aren’t we?”

“Yes, and no matter what life is guarding for us, I’m sure we will both make it to the end.” John said gathering all the confidence he had to keep his tone right.

Harry’s eyes looked away for a moment and when they came back to John’s face, the blue irises were filled with doubt and fear, something John rarely saw on his sister. “What _is_ the end, Johnny?”

John bit his lip and ran a hand through his blonde hair. “I’m not sure, but whatever it is I know we will go through it together. We’ve been through so much, Harry, that I feel like nothing can bring us apart anymore.”

Harry squeezed his hand tighter. “It will be hard to destroy us, Johnny, but I cannot state anything for sure anymore. If there is one thing life taught me in addition to surviving, is that nothing is too bad it can’t get worse.”

“Or nothing is too good that can’t get better”, John continued giving his sister a small grin.

She giggled softly. “True, although we are not acquaintances with this fact.”

“Yes, but I feel like we are heading to a new beginning. A place where we will be safe, where no one will look at us with those pity eyes.” John said sighing.

Harry turned her head to look outside the small window. “A new beginning, yes. I remember aunt Hudson used to tell about how calm and peaceful Beddgelert was with the rivers and the hills. Perfect for you, Johnny, who loves to wander around. Curious thing you are”, Harry smiled pecking John softly on the nose with her fingertips.

John chuckled. “Do they make good tea?”

Harry rolled her head back and laughed out loud. John got shivers with the relaxed sound. It was almost overwhelming how light and chilled the environment between them felt. For the first time in many years John could feel the weight on their shoulders lighten, making him exhale soundly. Harry scratched her cheek and said between giggles, “I hope so. Although we can always make our own tea, right?”

John nodded. “Do you think it is foolish of me to have such high hopes?”

Harry quickly shook his head and got closer, releasing his hand and circling his shoulder with her arm. “Of course not, Johnny. If we don’t hold onto our hopes, what will be left to keep us going?”

John rested his head on her fluffy shoulder. He felt that sleep bug pricking his eyes again. “I…”

“It’s okay, Johnny. You can sleep now, I’ll look after you.” Harry said gently, running her finger through his hair.

“You always do.”


	2. The scenes of a new perspective

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!
> 
> Thank you all for the support, it's amazing and inspiring! :D
> 
> This chapter is not beta'd or britpicke'd so please forgive my mistakes! 
> 
> I hope you enjoy it :*

 

Sherlock heard the door opening but chose to ignore it. He was lying down on his stomach, face on his pillow and arms on his sides. His punishment couldn’t be worse. He had already read all of the books in his room, just like he had counted all of the logs, catalogued all of the herbs he kept in his balcony and analyzed all of the stains and slots on the walls. He had nothing else to do and the boredom was killing him. He actually thought that if he stayed there for one more hour he would die. Still, he knew exactly who was entering his room, and talking to Mycroft was worse than the slowest death he could think of. He felt steps stopping right beside his bed.

“Sherlock. We need to talk”, his brother said sternly.

Sherlock was ready to ignore the obnoxious being again but something in his tone caught his attention. Leaning on his elbows Sherlock shifted his body so he was seated with his back against the headboard. “What?” He asked.

Mycroft crossed his arms and took a deep breath. If Sherlock didn’t know his brother better he would say the man was nervous. “You know Demeter’s punishment was to pick flowers to Georgina’s wedding. Well, she went to the woods to get them, but she didn’t come back.” Mycroft waited for his brother to give any answers but the boy just stared at him, so he continued. “Father, uncle and I went looking for her. And… We found her.”

Sherlock didn’t need to hear another word. He closed his eyes for a moment and joined his hands beneath his chin. “How?” He simply asked.

“We’re not sure.” Mycroft said.

Sherlock opened his eyes and stood up, anger boiling in his guts. “How you’re not sure? There are certainly not many ways a person can die around here, Mycroft! Did she… Was she…?” Sherlock couldn’t organize his thoughts so well now, he hated sentiment but sometimes it was impossible to run away from it. Demeter was his favorite cousin; they grew up together like siblings. He was closer to her than he had ever been with Mycroft and Sherrinford. Demeter was the only person in this godforsaken village that understood him and now she was dead. And they didn’t know why?!

Sherlock only realized he was pacing around the room when Mycroft lited his arms. “Brother, please calm down. I know it’s a shock for the entire family, but losing control won’t help to find out what happened.” Mycroft sighed but Sherlock kept walking around. “She was attacked by something. Something strange to these lands.”

Sherlock finally stopped, turning his head to look at his brother with a mix of disdain and hidden curiosity. “Who examined the body? If it was Phillip, I’m sure he would mistake a headache for a war wound.”

“He is the only doctor in the village. Although we all took a look at her. Nothing we know, Sherlock. I can assure you that.” Mycroft calmly said.

“I want to look over her”, Sherlock spoke with his voice breaking in the last word. “I… I want to see Demeter.”

Mycroft shook his head. “Sherlock, I know you love a mystery, but this is too close to home. We will ask someone to investigate the case. Someone from Cardiff.”

“I don’t mind. I want to see her, Mycroft. I need to… Say goodbye.” Sherlock said looking at his feet. This was not a lie, but he also wanted to analyze the body on his own, see what he could gather from it. Then he would be able to start a proper investigation – without anyone knowing it of course.

“There are many men looking for whatever it might have attacked her in the woods. They are all caring weapons and are well warned. There is nothing you can do, brother.” Mycroft said with an exhausted tone.

“Mycroft. Brother. Please, I need to. Please.” Sherlock asked in a harsh tone. He hated to beg to anyone, especially his brother, but he knew he had no choice now; the begging would show how much he really needed to see Demeter’s body.

Mycroft covered his face with both his hands and sighed heavily. “Alright, Sherlock. But I’m going to give you five minutes there, and nothing more.”

“That’s all I need.”

  


* * *

 

The room was cold, but that wasn’t the reason why Sherlock had shivers down his spine. Demeter was lying down on the copper table, a white blanket covering her entire figure. Her dark locks were falling down from the edge of the table and under the cloth, hanging heavy and soft as they should be. Sherlock walked closer to his cousin’s lifeless body. It was hard to believe that she was dead. In a moment they were sneaking away to experiment on dead animals and in the other she was no longer alive. Sherlock took a deep breath; it was more difficult than he thought it would be. Finally he removed the blanket from her body.

Sherlock bit his lip and forced the tears that wanted to run out to stay where they belonged, hidden inside him. Part of him cursed himself for being so emotional, but another part remembered how happy he was running and playing around with Demeter. So it was certainly not embarrassing to _feel_ so many things seeing his beloved cousin’s bruised body right there. _Bruised_ was not the right word, though. Dilacerated was more like it. Looking at the state of her corpse, Sherlock could begin to understand why his brother and father weren’t so sure of what attacked her.

Demeter’s stomach was opened, her guts ripped off of her body; her throat was pure raw; her legs and arms had scratches all over them, and part of her cheek and nose had been removed. It was simply the most terrifying thing he had ever seen in his not so long life. He didn’t know what affected him the most: the destroyed body or the fact that it was his favorite cousin’s destroyed body. Lowering his eyes, Sherlock ran a hand through his curls and tried to keep his breathing even. _You can do it, Sherlock. Just look at her. Find out whatever you can. For Demeter_.

Sherlock finally lifted his head and stared at what was left of his cousin. It was pretty clear to him that no human would be able to do that; the stomach and throat wounds seemed like bites from a very big jaw, and the scratches were definitely made by large paws. There was dirt in her skin and dress, Sherlock noticed touching the green tissue slightly. Demeter’s hair had the same soiled aspect, - which was weird for they found her at the grass near the rock they used to sit down to take some air after a running – her dark locks wouldn’t get this dirt there, only maybe with a few leaves but oddly there was none in her head or clothing. _She was dragged_ , Sherlock thought walking to stand by her feet. He uncovered it to see if there were some marks, and wasn’t surprised when indeed the marks were there. Sherlock could even imagine the size of the creature’s teeth by the red bruises on her ankles. Obviously a huge creature. And that was where the problem lay.

“Sherlock, your time is over”, came his older brother’s voice from the door.

Sherlock sighed and squeezed Demeter’s hand for one last time. _I’ll miss you._ Without saying a word the tall genius walked by his annoying brother, but before he could completely cross to the other room Mycroft grabbed his elbow. “You know I feel her death just like you do, right?”

Sherlock shrugged his grip away. “No, you don’t.”

Mycroft shook his head resignedly. “Did your eyes catch anything?” He said changing the subject.

“Whatever killed Demeter dragged her still alive body from the clearing to the forest, butchered her there and then hauled her back to where she first was. I need to go see the place, although I’m sure your men have stained the entire location.” Sherlock spoke quickly.

“I took a look myself before allowing them there, and it is pretty clear that it all happened like you said. The real question now is: _what_ did that to her?” Mycroft said, a little bit harshly at the last sentence.

“The obvious answer would be a wolf. But we both know that’s impossible. There are no wolves here, and even if there were that wouldn’t explain the bizarre behavior.” Sherlock crossed his arms.

“It could be a hybrid.” Mycroft suggested.

“No. No animal would do that, Mycroft. They attack to defend or eat, and that was none of it.” Sherlock closed his eyes for a moment before continuing. “Did you find… Her organs in the forest?”

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose. “Yes”, he simply said, face stiffed as if not to grimace. “If it was not a wolf or a hybrid, then what are you suggesting it was?”

“I’m not suggesting anything, brother. I’m only saying that it surely wasn’t an animal.”

“Nor a human. Which leaves us with… Let’s see, Gelert the Hound!” Mycroft snorted, rolling his eyes.

" _Once you_  eliminate  _the impossible_ , whatever remains, no matter how improbable, must be the truth." Sherlock hummed, hands together on his chin.

Mycroft sighed heavily and headed outside. “Let’s go, Sherlock. We have somewhere to go.”

  


* * *

 

John exited the carriage before Harry and held a hand for her. Since they were not being expected, there was no one to receive them at their arrival. The charioteer helped the siblings retrieving the few bags they had brought in their haste to leave. After they were all settled on the sidewalk, Harry paid and dismissed the man. “So here we are. Beddgelert!” His sister said, running a hand through her slightly mussed blonde locks.

“Yes. Seems quite… Calm.” John breathed, grabbing some bags and following Harry to the inn their aunt owned. “Well, it’s a good sign the inn is still here. With any luck Aunt Hudson is as alive as we are.”

“You forget we have no luck, little brother.” Harry arched her eyebrows and smiled. “But you’re right. In any case if she is not, we can pay for a few days until we decide what will happen next. Yes?”

John nodded. Harry slowly opened the front door, looking around the place. She held it for John to step inside after her. Everything looked quiet and pristine, well taken care of. There was a faint smell of mint in the air that made John’s mouth water; he was starving. Since there was nobody at the reception, Harry leaned on the counter and rang the bell. John dropped their things on the floor and stretched his arms above his head. He was exhausted and - if he was going to be honest - a little fearful. He only hoped their aunt – if the old woman was there at all – wouldn’t ask too many questions, for he wasn’t sure how he would answer them.

“Hello?” Harry called when nobody came. “Is there anyone around here?”

Suddenly some loud noises echoed from upstairs. The siblings turned their heads to where the voices were talking, and they could see shadows coming down cheerfully. Soon John realized they were from two ladies and one gentleman, all very obviously drunk. Finally they got downstairs and John felt himself blush at how debauched the three young people seemed. The two women looked exactly the same – light brown hair and hazel eyes-, although their corset had different colors; they were each one grabbing the man’s arms, giggling happily. John’s eyes focused on the man now, and if his heart beat a little faster he didn’t pay that any mind. Auburn curls fell down on the lanky porcelain face, and big beautiful green eyes were looking right back to him.

“Well, hello there”, the gorgeous man said. John liked the way his voice sounded, even though clearly stained with alcohol.

“Good evening, sir. We’re looking for Mrs. Hudson. Is she around?” Harry asked politely, ignoring how wildly the man was looking at John.

“English folks!” One of the women exclaimed in a high pitched voice that hurt John’s ear. “I haven’t seen Mrs. Hudson since yesterday, but then again…” She looked to her twin mischievously.

“We haven’t left the bedroom since yesterday!” Her sister continued in the same tone. And then they both started to laugh loudly. John knew his sister was probably rolling her eyes mentally, although her expression was still as contained as it could be.

The man suddenly let go of the girls, pushing them aside and walking towards John and Harry. John immediately looked down and tried not to blush. It is not that he had never had someone looking at him predatorily before, but this man was the most handsome man he had ever seen. _So… Exotic._ “We will wait for her then. Thank you.” John said quietly, clenching and unclenching his fists. It was ridiculous, really, to feel this attracted to a person he just met. Besides, the man was clearly drunk! He had plenty of experience with drunken people - enough for a lifetime - and he certainly didn’t want any more.

“What a pretty thing you are!” The man’s soft voice said, his hand reaching to touch John’s face but stopped by Harry’s tight grasp on his wrist.

“Why don’t you go home, sir? You’re clearly indisposed.” She said, trying to keep the anger out of her voice.

“I’ve never been more disposed! Besides, home is boring. Here is much more interesting…” He said licking his lips while his eyes hovered over John’s body. “You didn’t introduce yourselves.”

“Neither did you.” John reminded him.

“Fair well.” The young man bowed in reverence in an over dramatic way. “My name is Sherrinford Holmes, at your service!”

“Oh I certainly hope not”, Harry said with a grin on her round face. “I’m Harriet Watson, and this is my brother John Watson. We are Mrs. Hudson’s relatives.”

“Harry?!” They heard a familiar voice coming from behind them. “John?!”

They both turned around and smiled at the cheerful old woman running towards them. Before they could say anything Mrs. Hudson was all over them. Hugging and kissing and petting. It was comforting to have someone besides Harry treating him gently and loving. And their aunt looked basically the same nice little woman from their memories, always with a warm smile on her aging face. Despite his tiredness, John found himself smiling back at her.

However, when Mrs. Hudson opened her mouth to greet them properly, a deep baritone voice resonated through the room.

“That’s rousing.”


	3. Between heavenly creatures

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!
> 
> Thank you all for the support. Seriously people, you're great and I cannot compliment you enough! You give me inspiration to continue :D
> 
> So, it's very late here and I'm a bit sleepy so there might be more mistakes than usual, but worry not eventually I'll come back to correct them, okay? I'm sorry.
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! :*

 

_Is everyone in this village bloody gorgeous?_ John wondered when he turned around to see the two young men who had just arrived. They had some kind of resemblance with the first one – Sherrinford, John remembered – but at the same time they were very different. The tallest one had the same tone of auburn in his hair as Sherrinford had, but instead of curls this one had gentle waves neatly combed. His face was not lanky as the others, but rounder and with a bit more color on the cheeks; his eyes had the same cold shades, but tended to blue. Overall the man looked like a king, with a powerful mien that made John’s mouth water. And if this man looked like a king, the man standing beside him looked like a prince. He was paler than the others and his grey eyes were colder, dark curly hair surrounded his delicate but strong face, and lips that had John’s entire attention for some seconds. He needed to shake his head and blink a couple of times, whishing with all his heart that no one had noticed his unashamed staring.

“Excuse me?” Harry asked, arching an eye brown.

Mrs. Hudson walked to the boys and pecked both of them on the cheeks, very intimately. John could laugh with how uncomfortable the two men were with her sweet gestures. “Boys! Why the faces? Oh never mind, you’re always scowling anyway! Here, meet my niece and nephew.”

“Mrs. Hudson, I’m sorry but we have something extremely important to discuss with Sherrinford.” The older man said evenly.

“Oh it can wait a few introductions!” She exclaimed.

“Mr. Hu—“

“This is Harriet Watson and her younger brother John Watson, daughter and son of Anthony and Juliette Watson. Children, these are Mycroft and Sherlock Holmes, they’re brothers of Sherrinford there, and sons of Siger and Violet Holmes. They seem mean, but they all have a good heart!” Mrs. Hudson said fondly.

_Why would anyone name their children Mycroft, Sherrinford and Sherlock?_ John thought, amused.

The brothers rolled their eyes. “Pleased to meet you, but I’m sorry we must leave now. Sherrinford, come. It’s important.” Mycroft Holmes said, gesturing for his brother to walk.

“No no, not now Myc!” Sherrinford shook his head. “I’m having a good time here, brother. Come back later, would you?”

“Sherrinford, you don’t understand. It’s a family matter.” Mycroft insisted, his tone irritated.

“It’s always a family matter, isn’t it? Look, you just c—“ Sherrinford started but was interrupted by the youngest Holmes.

“Demeter is dead!” Sherlock Holmes snarled, fists clenched beside him. “While you were here perverting yourself with women of dubious origin risking contaminating our family’s name with some incurable disease, our cousin was being murdered!”

Mrs. Hudson gasped in shock, bringing her hands to her mouth. Harry and John lowered their heads in respect - they were very well accustomed with death to find it shocking.  The girls behind Sherrinford made some surprised and indignant sounds before running upstairs. The middle Holmes stiffened in place, eyes wide and mouth gaped. “I must be really drunk; I thought you said Demeter was dead.” He finally spoke.

Mycroft sighed. “No, brother. You heard correctly. Unfortunately, Demeter was killed this morning.”

“Oh my dear lord! I can’t believe it! Just yesterday I saw her running around like a free bird. Oh poor thing!” Mrs. Hudson whined. “I am so sorry, boys. She was such a nice girl! Oh god bless her soul! If you all excuse me… Please, Harriet and John, you can take the first room upstairs, I need to go to the church now. I’ll lighten a candle for your family, boys.”

Without another word Mrs. Hudson grabbed her shawl and umbrella and left the place, muttering small prayers all the way out. Harry moved to get the keys that were behind the counter while John looked at Sherrinford through the corner of his eyes. The man blinked a couple of times and ran his hands across his face before heading to join his brothers at the door. He stopped there to grab his coat from the rack.

“How? Who did it?” Sherrinford asked quietly to his brothers while he dressed.

“We don’t know yet, something unknown to these lands.” Mycroft answered calmly.

Harry touched John’s elbow and gestured for him to grab the bags so they could go to their room, but the young man was too much interested to move. His father used to say – or scream for that matter – that his curiosity and addiction to dangerous situations would be his doom, but John couldn’t bring himself to care, especially when those words were usually spitted with alcoholic breath right onto his face.

“We want you to go uncle’s house, comfort them. Sherlock and I will go back to the woods to search the scene again.” The oldest brother said when finally Sherrinford clumsily finished putting his coat on.

“You’re going on your own? Are you sure it’s safe? What do you suspect it killed her?” Sherrinford asked all in one breath, words going out a bit blurry.

“We are not sure, some kind of creature that this country hasn’t seen yet. I have some men hunting it, but Sherlock and I will search for some particular details. You are not in condition to come with us, brother. Go home, bath, and run to uncle’s house.” Mycroft said tiredly. John perceived this man liked and was used to give orders.

“Johnny, let’s go”, Harry whispered on his ear when she realized John wouldn’t move.

John nodded but instead of going with her, he instinctively did something surprising even for himself.

“I can go with you.”

“Johnny!” His sister exclaimed, touching his shoulder.

Mycroft looked at him with a bemused expression on his face. “Pardon me?”

“I want to go with you. I want to help you finding whatever killed your cousin.” John stepped forward squaring his shoulders. He wasn’t sure from where he was taking all of his confidence, but he was thankful for having it at the moment.

“I don’t think that’s wise”, Mycroft said turning around to leave.

“You’re not afraid”, Sherlock stared at John with curious eyes. “And you’re not trying to look brave. You truly want to help.”

“Yes”, John simply answered.

“You come from London, took lessons from your sister who taught herself alone after your mother passed away. You are much used to terrible matters such as alcoholism and death. You tried to sleep during your way here but couldn’t; you are hardly intimidated but hides a vulnerability that allows you to connect with most people around you. You like the Medicine area, but feels comfortable working with weapons.” Sherlock made a thoughtful sound without even taking a deep breath from the speech. “You are a much traumatized human being, John Watson, but you certainly don’t let it consume you. No, instead you are the one consuming your fears.”

John was stunned. No one had ever spoken to him like that - like he was exposed in some kind of auction. The most fantastic thing, though, was that everything Sherlock said was true. The man knew John for some few minutes and seemed to know more about him than his own sister.

“How da—“Harry started but John distractedly cut her off.

“That was brilliant!”

Sherlock frowned. “Really? Don’t you think it was… Improper?”

John nodded. “It certainly was. Improper and inconvenient, but definitely brilliant.”

Sherlock seemed truly surprised, and for the first time John actually thought he saw a hint of a smile on the man’s beautiful face. He turned his head to look at his older brother. “Mycroft, let him come with us. He will be able to help, I can tell.”

Mycroft considered for some moments without looking at John and then said, “Fine. But we are leaving right now.” And he was gone out of the door.

“Come on, John.” Sherlock called following his brothers.

“I’m sorry, Harry, but I need to do this. Grab what you can, I will be back to help you with the rest, yes?” John took his sister’s face in his hands and kissed her temple.

She only sighed resignedly, knowing it was impossible to convince his stubborn brother on the contrary. “Alright, but please be careful. I cannot lose you, yes?”

“You’ll never lose me, sister.”

* * *

Mycroft didn’t believe in angels. So he most certainly couldn’t believe John Watson was real. The short and blond boy looked like one of the archangels painted by Botticelli. He was easily the most beautiful thing Mycroft had ever seen in his life, and this fact was extremely scary. He wanted nothing but to run away from there, he thought that the only way his heart would stop beating that fast was if he was far from the boy. The word _sentiment_ came to his mind but he quickly shoved it away. There was no way Mycroft Holmes would let himself _feel_ for anyone outside his family, especially not a young and outsider child such as John Watson. So when his brother had asked him to allow John to go with them, Mycroft froze.

“We only brought three horses”, Sherlock said when they were all outside.

“I am sure Mrs. Hudson has one in the –“ Mycroft started but Sherrinford spoke over him.

“It will take too long until we get it. John can ride with me. No problem at all”, the middle Holmes shot the shorter boy a playful glance.

Mycroft wasn’t sure if he was angry with his brother for acting so childish when their cousin was dead or for flirting with John Watson. Somehow it seemed almost a sin to allow John to be too close with Sherrinford, as the English boy looked so pure and untouched while his brother was quite the opposite.

“No, you can’t even ride yourself, brother. Besides, you will follow a different road from ours.” Sherlock snapped. “John can come with me.”

Mycroft thought about protesting so he would be the one riding along with John so close to his body, but he couldn’t think of a good reason to do so. When they were all settled Mycroft lead the way. After some minutes Sherrinford gestured his goodbyes and turned into another path that would take him to the Holmes’ manor.

The sun was setting so the forest looked even more mysterious. Mycroft dismounted and grabbed one of the torches he had asked his men to leave there for them. “Take one and let’s go. Do not get lost, please. We must stay together.”

“Will we be able to properly look for anything in this darkness?” John asked grabbing a torch.

“It will be hard, but not impossible. Especially not for us.” Sherlock said smugly, gesturing between Mycroft and himself. “But we couldn’t wait for tomorrow’s sun; otherwise the scene would be more compromised than it already is.”

As quietly as possible they stepped into the forest. Mycroft needed to admit he didn’t like to do the leg work, but he certainly didn’t trust any other person accompanying his brother alone; Sherlock had a special way of manipulating people to let him do whatever he wanted. Besides, Mycroft’s observation skills were sharper than his, so the chances of finding anything there were doubled.

“Some broken branches and smashed leafs here…” Sherlock pointed at the floor.

“Probably the result of someone walking around here”, John said.

“Could be, but look at these patterns over here”, Sherlock crouched on the floor near a tree’s root. “You can see that the leafs here are all pressed on the ground while the others just a few meters away are not. Almost as if—“

“They dragged someone this way”, Mycroft completed. “If they were merely footprints we would be able to see some spots of raised land, but look how these pebbles were clearly moved from this position to here.”

“So you’re saying this… Creature hauled your cousin across the forest? Why would it do that?” John asked, brows adorably furrowed.

“We don—“ Mycroft would calmly answer when Sherlock shushed him. Annoyed he asked, “What, Sherlock?”

“Can’t you hear?” The younger Holmes asked in a whisper.

“What?” John whispered back.

“Like a… Growl.”

There it was. They all heard that time, a growl. Most definitely a growl. All the men instinctively got closer and started to look around without moving. Their torches moved up and down while they tried to see if there was anything near them. Mycroft had the creepy sensation of being observed.

“I think it’s better if we all quench our torches.” Sherlock silently suggested.

Very slowly they lowered the torches to the ground and kicked some earth on them. Soon there was nothing but darkness and the only noise they listened to was their heavy breathing.

 Until suddenly they heard it again.


	4. From the confines of nature

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd or britpicke'd, so please forgive my mistakes!
> 
> Hope you enjoy it (:

 

Sherlock was prepared to face the creature. He didn’t have any weapons with him or any advantage but somehow he felt ready to go against the monster. He would do it for Demeter, he would do it for his family, and he wasn’t sure why but he would also do it for John Watson. There was something extraordinary about the English boy that Sherlock couldn’t quite figure out yet. And he had said that his deductions were brilliant. No one had ever said that, not even Demeter. Of course Sherlock knew his interest had nothing to do with _sentiment,_ he didn’t do _sentiment_. John was just a temporary fascination; soon enough Sherlock would get bored with him. He knew that.

The growling was getting closer. It was frustrating not knowing from where the noise was coming. The creature could attack from any spot, and Sherlock’s head was getting dizzy with the effort of quickly turning it to every possible direction. Then suddenly he thought he had actually heard it coming from his left behind a thick old tree.

“Mycroft, right there. Can you see something moving? Behind that tree.” Sherlock whispered pointing at the exact place.

His brother narrowed his eyes and stared for some seconds before replying, “I see. Maybe we should back off slowly.”

“We can’t lose this opportunity!” Sherlock muttered, stepping forward instead of backwards.

“No, stop it. Sherlock!” Mycroft wanted to reach a hand and pull his brother back but before he could do anything there was a loud crack and in a blink of an eye a large grey creature lunged on Sherlock’s direction. The dark haired man was already arching his body so he could deflect the attack – although he was almost certainly it wouldn’t work. He never got to see if it worked or not, though. The grey thing was hit by something right on his muzzle and fell down hard on the forest’s floor.

Sherlock’s heart skipped a bit and his legs trembled as he dropped to the ground on his bottom. He could only watch as the creature squirmed and whined in pain touching its bleeding snout with dirty paws. When it was about to turn and get up, Mycroft quickly kicked it on the stomach and thrust a thick piece of branch right on his guts. The sound of smashing organs and bones filled the woods. After Mycroft seemed satisfied with his work, he threw the improvised weapon down and crouched beside the huge monster.

Sherlock stood up and breathed hard. “You hit him with a rock?” He asked his brother, whilst cleaning his robes with slightly trembled hands.

Mycroft shook his head.

“I did”, John said stepping next to the slaughtered being.

“Fantastic aim”, Sherlock exclaimed bowing his head in acknowledgement.

“Thank you. Are you alright?” John asked, and Sherlock was surprised to see his honest concern. Few people had showed him such true worry.

Sherlock simply nodded and looked down at the dead creature near his feet. It had a great similarity with a hound, but the size was two times bigger, and it had a long line of thick – almost thorny - black fur that ran from its head to small back. Also, the creature had a thin and long snout that curved at the tip, very different from any other lupine Sherlock had ever seen; its paws were armed with long, dark and sharp nails; and when Mycroft slightly touched its jaw, they could see how yellow and intimidating the teeth were.

“I’ll ask the men to help us take it to the morgue. We need to analyze it better with a proper light and instruments.” His older brother said.

“This is not natural”, John commented, his breathing a bit erratic.

“It certainly isn’t.” Sherlock agreed, fascinated.

 

* * *

 

Sherrinford had his ears tired and a hell of a headache. His mother had prepared him some tea but the effects were yet to come. He seriously couldn’t stand any more whiny women that day, and they were everywhere! Some of them were just neighbors who didn’t even know Demeter. Of course Sherrinford was sad about his cousin; after he sobered up he locked himself in his room and had his moment of silence. He couldn’t believe god would take such an intelligent and young girl like that, while other cruel people were still pretty much well and alive. Maybe his brothers were right, he considered, maybe there was no god after all. Well, that wasn’t to be decided by him, so he just shook his head and went to do his obligations.

Despite the weeping ladies, everything else was manageable. He hugged his aunt and said good and beautiful words to her. The biggest difference between Sherrinford and his brothers was that he could disguise his lack of empathy, and he could fake feeling and doing whatever the other normal people felt and did. He didn’t despise ordinary people like his brothers did, in fact he wished he was more like the so called common people. He did like sex, though, but not as much as most people might think. He acted as a conqueror so the other men would respect and notice him more; he wasn’t even a big fan of breasts, although he would never say that out loud.

Sherrinford caught himself thinking about the English boy – John Watson – during the sad day. He cursed himself for being such a goof next to the blonde, he had had way too many whiskey shots. He wanted to see the boy again so he could talk to him properly. It would be hard to flirt with him again, though; not because Sherrinford didn’t know how to do it in the right way – he did, very well for that matter – but John was a man, he probably liked women. Well, there would only be one way to find out, and if Sherrinford were rejected at least he could say he tried. Because, John was worth trying. Bloody hell wasn’t John handsome? He was short but had just the right amount of muscles, and his hair asked to be touched; oh and the way his soft cheeks blushed at Sherrinford’s not-so-discreet-but-completely-drunk attempted of flirting. He had no doubt in his mind that John would be a great lover.

All of his thoughts dissipated, though, when his brothers – AND John – entered the house flustered and excited – something extremely hard to the Holmeses. Behind them there were a few other men, all with the same exhausted expression and mussed hair. All the noise and turmoil bothered his mother who was seated near their aunt, holding her by the shoulder. Violet Holmes excused herself from the sofa and stood up, crossing her arms and narrowing her eyes at the group of men. “What is going on here? Have some respect!”

“They killed it!” One of the men screamed. And soon all of them were shouting things such as ‘they murdered the devil’, ‘the beast had what it deserved’, ‘what a demoniac creature’. Sherrinford stood up and walked to his brothers before everybody else started clapping and congratulating them on their successful hunt. Even his uncle and aunt cheered up slightly at the news.

“What was it?” He asked his older brother.

“We cannot find a definition yet. Let’s call it the beast for now.” Mycroft answered, his tone as tired as his face.

“We left it on the morgue. Anderson wasn’t there anymore so it’s probably safe from any unwanted poking.” Sherlock said, looking paler than usual.

“Are you going there tonight?” Sherrinford asked.

“No, I think we had enough for tonight”, Mycroft said before setting his eyes on John. “You are probably feeling wrecked, Mr. Watson. Please, eat something and then ask one of our charioteers to take you to Mrs. Hudson’s inn, yes? Your sister must be worried.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes. You can call me John, by the way.” The boy smiled, and Sherrinford felt some shivers down his spine with the beautiful expression.

“In that case, I must insist you to call me Mycroft.”

John nodded and Sherlock was quick to grab him by the elbow and lead him to the kitchen, muttering something about his brother being a fat bastard. Sherrinford looked at Mycroft who kept staring at the two young boys as they walked amongst the crowds of people to the other room with an expression Sherrinford had never seen on his face before. He pinched his brother slightly on the arm. “Like what you see?” He teased.

Mycroft huffed in annoyance. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, brother. Now if you excuse me.”

 

* * *

 

The following morning, Mycroft had the best sleep of his life, filled with dreams of silky golden hair, delicate hands and gentle blue eyes. He was awakened by several strong knocks on the door. He took his time to wash his face and dress properly before opening the door to a very euphoric Georgina. Her yellow dress was crumpled on the edges; her long waved dark hair was poorly laced in a bun, falling free from some spots down to her flushed face. His cousin was so young he often forgot she was a bride.

“Shouldn’t you be getting ready for your wedding, Georgina?” Mycroft asked covering his mouth as he yawned.

She shook her head pointedly. “Of course not, cousin. Especially not after what happened to my sister. It is too recent – yesterday, for god’s sake! I want to respect our loss.”

Mycroft nodded, smiling as gentle as his face allowed. “You are right, I’m sorry. So, what happened to you? You look like you just ran all the way here.”

“That’s because I did!” Georgina exclaimed. “Something happened yes, but not with me.”

Mycroft finally stepped forward and closed the door behind him. “Tell me what then, Georgie.”

“Lucy and I were going to wash our dolls in the river – don’t look at me like that, yes I know I’m too old to care for dolls, but I do. Anyway, we were feeling safe and sound because you and Sherly had taken the beast down yesterday, so we didn’t pay much attention to our surroundings until I saw something odd stuck on one of the river rocks. The current wasn’t too strong so we stepped in and then we saw it.”

Mycroft waited for the girl to continue but when she seemed too awed with her big green eyes staring at him blankly, he snapped his fingers on her face. “Georgina! What did you see?”

She rubbed her temple as if to scare the thoughts away. “Oh yes, so we saw it, Mycroft! A body! A dead body, for that matter.”

Mycroft frowned and touched his cousin’s shoulder. “Did you tell anyone else? How was the state of the body?”

“Lucy is waiting outside; you’re the first one I’m telling this. I don’t know where uncle Siger is, and my father and mother are too sad to deal with it.”

“Alright. You did right, lass. Now how was it?”

“That’s the oddest thing of all, Myc!” Georgina braced herself. “The woman’s guts were ripped off! And I noticed she had tons of scratches on her face and arms, her dress was all torn! Lucy said she saw something purple floating on the river, I think it was an organ! How terrible is that? I’m shocked, cousin. And I don’t understand. Didn’t you kill the beast?”

“Yes, we did. But apparently it wasn’t the only one.”


	5. Saints walk together

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everybody!
> 
> As usual, this chapter is not beta'd or britpicke'd; so excuse my mistakes, please!  
> Also, thank you all for the support. (:
> 
> Hope you enjoy it!

 

Mycroft wanted to see the body before anyone else. Beddgelert didn’t have any station of law enforcement; usually the most powerful families took care of the most important matters, although the village hardly had any matters at all. The beast – or beasts – was the biggest thing that had ever happened to them, Mycroft could even be happy about the distraction if people weren’t dying. And there he was, coat sleeves rolled up until his elbows, the hem of his trousers soaked, and sweat sliding down his forehead from the force he used to drag the body out of the river. _Another woman. I wonder if these beasts have a preference._

Mycroft recognized the woman in the moment he stopped to really look at her blank face. Charlotte Graham. Light brown hair, very skinny frame, freckles all over her face, opaque green eyes staring at nothing. Charlotte had only reached the age of twenty, Mycroft remember very well her birthday ball, how happy she was dancing with her fiancé. _How could she possibly know?_ He felt rage boiling in his veins. Two young lives that hadn’t even started to actually live were torn away for what? The beast wasn’t even eating them; it looked pure torture. And now he found out that there are two beasts? What if there is a pack of these things? Should the village be evacuated? _Don’t panic, Mycroft. You’ll take care of it._

Charlotte’s body was very much like Demeter’s, with the exception that her face had scratches instead of bites. Mycroft lifted her dress a little to see if there were marks on her ankles like the ones on his cousin’s and yes, there were. _Charlotte was hauled to the river just like Demeter was hauled to the meadow. Why did the creatures do that?_ It was like they wanted to show off somehow.

“Mycroft!” He heard Sherrinford’s voice shouting from behind.

He turned around, hands on his hips. Sherrinford was wearing no coat, his hair looked disheveled and his cheeks were flushed. “What is it, brother? Did Georgina tell you then?”

His younger brother stopped at the moment he saw Charlotte’s destroyed body. He covered his mouth with his hand and took a deep breath. Mycroft knew his middle brother didn’t like to see corpses like Sherlock or Mycroft - not that Mycroft enjoyed like Sherlock, but he certainly didn’t mind. Sherrinford looked everywhere except to the body. “Yes, oh god.”

“I’m sorry you saw her.” Mycroft said honestly. “But why did you come here anyway? Where is Sherlock?”

“That’s why I’m here…” Sherrinford said, voice raspy. “Georgina told mother who told father who asked all the men to come here, and they’re coming anytime…”

Mycroft frowned. “No need for them to come here take the body. I don’t want to expose Charlotte like that.” Mycroft considered. “Besides, if they are coming why are you here?”

“Some of them will take the body and others will hunt the thing again. I heard them talking and they think it’s a pack!”

“What do they know? They shouldn’t say those things, it will only scare the village.” Mycroft sighed. “And you still didn’t answer my question, brother.”

Sherrinford rubbed both hands on his face. “Something happened…”

“I’ve been hearing this sentence a lot lately…” Mycroft muttered.

“But I’m certain you haven’t been seeing what we’ll show you…”

“We? Sherlock is envolved. Of course he is.”

“He was the one who found out. He didn’t actually ask me to come here recruit you, but I know deep down he wanted to.” Sherrinford almost gave a little smirk but stopped himself probably remembering they were in the present of a dead body. “He went to the morgue to analyze the beast, but—“

“What? How did he enter there? I’m sure Anderson didn’t allow it. And I’m not even surprised he decided to go without me anyway.” Mycroft shook his head. Sherlock could be insufferable sometimes.

“He stole the keys”, Sherrinford rolled his eyes. “Anyway, you need to come before father arrives with the other men. You need to see it!”

“Why?” Mycroft was finding that extremely awkward.

“They can’t know! At least, not yet. Like you said, let’s not scare the village. Yes? Let’s go, brother!” Sherrinford turned around and started to run back.

Mycroft looked at Charlotte for one last time and he couldn’t understand exactly why but he thought of John. When the subject was death, usually the first things that came to Mycroft’s mind were his family and how he would do anything to keep them safe. That rule still applied, but now – and he did not understand why – John was on his list of priorities to keep safe. Was it because the boy had helped him save his little brother? Was it because he acted so bravely? Maybe because he looked like an angel? With eyes so blue that made the Sky shy and skin so soft that made cotton seem rough. Or was it his beautiful English accent spoken in that low but steady voice of his? Who gave John Watson permission to invade Mycroft’s mind like that? The things his body did when he thought of John were distinct from everything he had ever felt. And he knew it was stupid and ridiculous. He barely knew the boy! Absurd. He would force himself to take all of these thoughts out of his head, after all he didn’t do _sentiments_. Besides, he had a real problem ahead of him.

* * *

“John Hamish Watson!”

John grimaced and put the pillow on his head. He had gotten away without a sermon the night before but he knew his bigger sister wouldn’t let it be, he just didn’t know it would be so bloody early. He ignored her, unsuccessfully.

“It is not so early in the morning, actually.” Harry said as if she had read his mind. “You slept too much, but maybe that’s because you were out all night hunting deadly creatures! Do you have any idea of how worried I was?” Harry exclaimed angrily. “Whatever that killed that poor girl was out there and you were looking for it! All night!”

John sighed and rolled onto his back, brushing sleepiness off of his eyes. “I am sorry, Harry. If it is of any comfort, we found and killed the beast.”

Harry crossed her arms, and her expression was a mix of annoyance and pride for her little brave brother. “I know you did. The entire village knows already. I went downstairs for breakfast and that’s all they talk about!”

“Aren’t you happy about it?” John asked, voice hoarse from sleeping.

Harry sighed. “Of course I am. But I don’t think it’s worth risking your life!” She sat on the edge of the bed.

John moved so he was leaning against the headboard. “But the beast would have taken many more lives, sister!”

“I don’t care about many more lives, I only care about yours. And you’ll obey me next time. Okay? Don’t look at me like that, Johnny! What will I do if you… I don’t even want to think about it. Just, please, try to keep yourself safe. For me? Will you do this for me?” Harry touched his left foot fondly.

How could John possibly say no to that?

“Alright, sister. I’m sorry I scared you.”

Harry nodded and looked down to his foot, then she looked up at him with a very familiar mischievous gleam in her eyes. John knew what that meant, but before he could jump out of the bed she grabbed his foot harshly and started tickling his bare sole. John couldn’t help but laugh out loud and squirm uncontrollably. Harry knew pretty well that was his weak spot, and she knew exactly the right amount of tickle he could take without peeing in his briefs. But still it was a very sweet torture.

“Harry, Harry! Stop, stop!” John screamed between high pitched giggles.

His sister let go of his foot only to take hold of his other one, but this time John was faster and pulled her down on the bed with all his strength. “My turn!” He whispered, tickling at her ribs. He was disappointed to find so many cloth there, and a corset! He missed the times when Harry didn’t wear a corset, the bloody things ruined all the fun. He pouted. “Stupid corset, you won’t feel me tickling you!”

Harry dropped her head on the pillow and chuckled. “At least they’re useful for something!”

They were both giggling when two quick knocks on the door startled them. “Hello, dears! I’m coming in! Are you decent?” Their aunt’s voice came from the other side.

“Just a moment, please, Aunt Hudson!” John said while putting on his robes as fast as he could. Harry simply sat properly on the bed, running a hand through her curly short blonde hair. After lacing his belt, John called, “You may come now, aunt.”

When Aunt Hudson opened the door, John was surprised to find another person with her. A girl, probably his age, with straight blonde hair and crystal clear blue eyes. John thought she was one of the most beautiful women he had ever seen, even though she didn’t look quite happy. Her cheeks were pink and her eyes were teary; her light green dress was stained with mud on the edges. John wanted to comfort her, but he knew better than to just throw himself on the young lady.

“Good morning, children. Oh Harry I’ve spoken to, but John, did you have a good night of sleep as well?” Their aunt asked, voice friendly but slightly worried.

“Yes, very comfortable. Thank you, aunt.” He answered politely.

“I’m glad!” She exclaimed before turning to touch the girl’s shoulder. “Oh, this is Mary Morstan. Mary dear, these are Harriet and John Watson, from England.”

“It’s a pleasure to meet you, and I am truly sorry for the bother your sleep.” Mary said with a strong but sweet voice. John’s heart melted.

“It is no bother, my lady. After all, I do love to be awaken by the Sun.” John spoke, and after some minutes he realized what he had just said. _Where did that come from? Well, if you had any chances of having the honor of her company, now it’s gone with your loose mouth._ Harry always told him that women didn’t like being courted so explicitly, and he believed her for she had more experience with women than he had – although that was a big secret between them.

For John’s surprise Mary turned into an even deeper shade of pink, but giggled quietly. “Thank you, Mr. Watson. You’re very kind. Did they teach you that in the castle you came from?”

John couldn’t help but smirk at her reply. Who didn’t like to be complimented? “Excuse me, Miss Morstan, but I am no prince. Although be sure that if I were, you would most definitely be a princess.”

Mary smiled so beautifully at him, she looked so innocent but still so intelligent. John wanted to kiss her, and that thought brought him guilt. Guilt because he also wanted to kiss the younger Holmes the night before when they kept talking in the kitchen of the other man’s house. John had eaten while Sherlock had watched, talking freely about experiments and some small investigations about missing objects. John could have heard he speak through all night, his voice was smooth and deep and his eyes were the color of the sea after a storm. Still, John knew he would never be able to conquer his desires, for both of them were destined to marry a woman and have children. So if he needed to be with a woman, that woman should be one such as Miss Mary Morstan.

“You two are very sweet, and I promise I will allow you to talk later, but now Mary has something to say to you, John.” Aunt Hudson said.

Mary nodded. “Well… Everybody is commenting since the first hours of dawn that the beast is back.”

John frowned. “What do you mean? I saw it dead just yesterday.”

“Yes, but apparently there is another.”

“How do you know?” Harry stood up, a hand on her hips.

“It killed a friend of mine! Charlotte Graham. My grandfather told me they found her body in the river. I even went there earlier and let some flowers go through the current as a tribute to her.” Mary looked down, clasping her hands. “When I was coming back from there, one of the Holmes brothers – Sherrinford – asked if I could please call you to help them since you are already aware of the situation from the inside, I think. He said he couldn’t come for he had an important matter to solve with his brothers, but that you should meet him at the clock tower at three o’clock in the afternoon.”

“I appreciate the information, Miss Morstan. But I will decline unless you walk there with me.”

Mary blushed again but smiled staring John in the eyes. “I’ll make sure of it.”


	6. Choosing battles

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beat'd or britpicke'd, so excuse my mistakes, please!
> 
> I dedicate this chapter to Luthien_00 :**

 

Mycroft couldn’t believe what his eyes were seeing once he arrived at the morgue. For a second he wondered who that was and why was he so important, but then noticing Sherlock’s exasperated expression and Sherrinford’s unbelievable grimace, he realized what that meant. Still, that wasn’t possible, was it? Well, Mycroft had started to believe the world wasn’t as simple as he had imagined since he saw how peculiar and unique that beast was, but this… This challenged science; this challenged even the most absurd things he knew. He couldn’t deny it now, though; after all it was right there before his eyes.

“Do you know him? I’ve never seen him in town before.” Sherrinford asked, eyes not leaving the man’s body on the copper table.

Mycroft shook his head and Sherlock hummed something incoherently. The corpse seemed alright if it wasn’t for a big scar on his neck that looked like a bite mark. A big bite mark. His face was plain and common; small nose, thin lips, pale color and fair hair. Mycroft watched as Sherlock pulled the man’s eyes open. They were the same color as the beast’s ones. But of course they would be. Mycroft knew they were the same, but his mind still couldn’t conceive it.

“Help me turn him around”, Sherlock asked in a low tone, attention completely focused on the body in front of him.

Sherrinford and Mycroft helped their younger brother turn the man – it was needed all three of them, for he was very big – so he was lied down on his stomach, displaying his back to the Holmes’ men. Now Mycroft understood why Sherlock wanted him like that. The unnamed fellow had a thick line that went from the back of his neck to the beginning of his buttocks. Just like the thorny fur of the beast that helped to distinguish him from any other hound or lupine they had known.

“So this man _is_ the beast!” Sherrinford exclaimed breathless.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “Thank you for pointing the obvious, brother.”

“What are we going to do about it?” Sherrinford asked while walking around the place with his hands clasping each other.

“We must not say a word to anyone about this.” Mycroft said in a very commanding tone.

“Not even to John Watson?” Sherrinford and Sherlock asked at the same time.

“Why would you tell him? He shouldn’t be involved into this madness.” Mycroft darkly said. Just the thought of someone so small and fragile – although brave and strong – as John caught in the middle of the mess was revolting. He didn’t understand why, but he knew that boy should be safe.

“But it’s not madness, is it? It’s the reality.” Sherlock said, staring him in the eyes. “Besides, John proved to be a good help and he is smarter than most people in this village, so I think he can handle it. Besides, we’ll need as much capable help as he can to get this other beast alive.”

“Alive? What are you planning?!” Sherrinford frowned.

“Seriously, Sherrinford. You’re so obtuse sometimes it makes me wonder if you’re really my brother.” Sherlock huffed, analyzing the dead man’s neck with his gloved fingertips.

“No need for being this rude, Sherlock.” Mycroft censured his brother before turning to Sherrinford. “Alive yes, so we can wait until it changes back to its human form. And then we will ask them some questions.”

“How do you know it will change back? Maybe it only changes back when it’s dead.” Sherrinford said, sounding mildly confused.

“Maybe, but maybe not. We do not know anything about it. Only it has a human form.” Mycroft said thoughtfully, pressing his fingers to his mouth.

“And that he was turned into a beast by this bite.” Sherlock whispered more to himself than to the others in the room, pointing the big purple and reddish mark.

“How do you know that? Maybe it’s just a fight bite.” Sherrinford considered.

“Wrong. If you look it closely…” Sherlock took his loupe and analyzed it for some more seconds before standing back. “You can see it’s infected. There have been cases where an enraged dog bites a human and the human starts to act like the dog, completely uncontrollable. I think the situation in hand follows the same principle. Beast number one bit our man here who turned into beast number two, who probably bit another human who turned into beast number three that is the one who just killed Charlotte Graham.”

“How do you know beast number one isn’t the other who killed poor Charlotte?” Sherrinford asked, stepping closer to the table to take a look at the bite.

“Because this man is not from our village. So the beast that bit him is probably attacking another village, and would not share the territory with this one. Since beast number two was the weaker and newer one, he needed to move and therefore he came to our community. Here, he bit someone we are still unaware of whom it is.”

“It’s odd we haven’t known of other attacks from our neighbors villages. I shall write them a letter.” Mycroft muttered, and then turned to his youngest brother again. “Found anything else?”

“Not yet, I need more.” Sherlock walked to the nearest chair and put his navy blue coat on.

“Where are you going?” Mycroft asked, following him to the door.

“Why is that of any concern of yours?”

“Because there is a beast attacking people out there, and you’re my little brother.”

Sherlock sighed. “I won’t be alone.” He said turning to open the door.

“I hope you’re not thinking about recruiting John right now.” Sherrinford said with a smug tone Mycroft knew well.

That made Sherlock move his head and glare at his other brother. “What if I am?” He snapped back, voice dangerously low.

“You’ll be terribly disappointed.” Sherrinford smirked, also grabbing his purple coat and putting it on gracefully. “For I recruited him first.”

For a moment Mycroft thought Sherlock would bare his teeth to Sherrinford, but instead he squared his shoulders and stuck his nose to the other Holmes. “Why would you do that? You don’t even know where to start, or what to search, for that matter.”

Sherrinford walked so he was facing Sherlock at the door. “Oh but I know where to start on _John_.” The smile he gave couldn’t be more annoying, both to Sherlock and Mycroft. And Mycroft didn’t understand – or pretended he didn’t – why he felt such a terrible feeling in his gut when he thought about Sherrinford spending time with John. It just didn’t feel _right_. It was as if his brother couldn’t protect John the way he should be protected. Mycroft decided it was better if he just let go of the idea.

Sherlock stepped forward challenging Sherrinford with his body. They were really close now, the middle brother grinning proudly and the youngest one turning his lips and eyebrows into an enraged expression. “You better keep your dirty hands out of John. He is not one of your _flings_ , and he won’t fall for your silly advances, so why don’t you just give up?” Sherlock snarled.

Sherrinford laughed, throwing his head back. “Well, if I never try I’ll never know, right?”

Sherlock grabbed him by his coat collars. “Wrong. Stay away from him, Sherrindord.”

“Or what?”

“Or I’ll—“

“You two, stop it right now!” Mycroft stepped between them, palming their chests to push and keep them apart. “You’re acting like John is some kind of object you can claim. It’s childish and disrespectful! I can see neither of you is suited enough for his company.”

“And you are?” Sherrinford snorted. “I see the way you look at him, Mycroft. Like you had a chance!”

Sherlock shook his head. “Don’t be absurd, Sherrinford. Mycroft has no feelings. The only thing he likes is cake.” Sherlock slapped Mycroft’s hand away from him and opened the door completely. “Now if you excuse me, I have a mystery to solve.” He flew out of the room.

“And I have a meeting to go!” Sherrinford said leaving the room as well.

Mycroft was left alone in the room with the dead man/beast. He wondered if it would always be this way. So lonely. And since when that bothered him so badly?


	7. Breaking the walls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not beta'd or britpicke'd, so sorry for the mistakes!
> 
> Sorry if there are too many errors in this one. I'm basically a walking dead by now. lol
> 
> Hope you enjoy it :*

 

John walked beside Mary down the calm streets of Beddgelert. He would never admit it out loud, but he was proud to been seen next to such a beautiful lady. It was like he was proving something to himself, something that hid the fact that deep down what he truly wanted was one of the Holmes brothers beside him. Either Mycroft with his undeniable charm, Sherrinford with his crooked smile or Sherlock with his deep grey eyes. John wished he didn’t feel so attracted to them - he knew society would deem it wrong -, but he just couldn’t ignore it. As they were arriving to their destination – the clock tower – John’s heart started to beat faster, which was ridiculous for he had been on possible romantic meetings before. And he wasn’t even sure if that was a romantic meeting, or maybe just a normal meeting to talk about the situation. _Why would it be a romantic meeting, John? Mary said Sherrinford wanted to talk to him because I am aware of the mess. See, nothing romantic about that._

“There he is. Oddly punctual”, Mary said, and for a moment John thought he heard annoyance in her voice. “Well, this is where we bid our farewells.”

John looked at the tall and lean man standing there, hands on his coat pockets. How could someone look so alluring even from the other side of the street? There was something especial in these Holmes men. John turned to look at Mary, who was staring at him with glowing eyes and a slightly pouted mouth.

“You speak as if we won’t see each other anymore.” John said, stepping closer.

“That depends entirely on you.” Mary answered, her lips twitching up.

“In that case…” John gently took one of her hands and brought it to his lips. “I shall see you tomorrow.”

Mary smiled widely now, more relieved. “You shall.” She bowed her head.

John reverenced as well. “Be safe.”

Mary turned around and John did the same, walking steadily and as confidant as he could towards Sherrinford. John felt like hiding his face in his coat so he wouldn’t have to stare to such a beautiful sight. He felt small and ugly next to the regal man. Whatever material the Holmes’ were made of, John knew it was better than his.

They both greeted each other politely, John trying to disguise the blood that wanted to run to his cheeks. Sherrinford’s auburn curls seemed to be strategically mussed, which only made the man looked more angelical - although John needed to admit he seemed more of a mixture between heaven and hell. And then Sherrinford smiled and it felt like a thousand of little devils were pushing John towards him – towards his lean and strong body.

“John!” Sherrinford exclaimed before frowning. “May I call you John?”

John grinned. “Yes, Sherrinford.”

The taller man chuckled and gestured so they could enter the building. The tower was bigger inside than John thought, and had no one apart from a couple of old men talking and smoking pipes next to a big window on the first floor. John and Sherrinford ignored them and climbed up the narrowed stairs; it seemed like everything was made of red bricks. John had never seen something so perfectly built; it was beautiful. When they finally arrived upstairs, John gaped and his eyes widened. Seeing the large clock from inside out made him feel eerily powerful, like he could control time somehow. If he could, he would. He most certainly would go back to the time where his mother was alive.

“John?” Sherrinford’s smooth voice startled John out of his reveries.

“Sorry”, John awkwardly smiled. “How are you feeling?”

“I’m as fine as I can be with all of this…” Sherrinford’s expression was the most serious since they met. “In fact, that’s why I called you here.”

“Mary told me another woman died, which means…”

“I shouldn’t tell you, but I don’t think it’s fair to hide it from you.” Sherrinford paced around the place, his footsteps echoing loudly. “Please. Promise me you won’t tell anyone what I’m about to confide in you.”

John nodded. “I promise.”

“Not even your sister.”

“Promise.”

“Alright.” The taller man stopped and stared at John with those expressive green eyes. “We found out the beast you and my brothers killed is human.”

John’s brows furrowed. “Hmm… Sorry, what?”

It took less than John himself expected for Sherrinford to convince him of their theory about beast number one living in another village and the biting process for beast number three that was currently having some quality time in the place. Of course it all seemed highly unlikely and completely mad, but John had actually _seen_ the thing and he knew that challenged every truth he considered absolute in the world. So why couldn’t it be half human? The Holmes brothers were the most intelligent people he had ever met, and they sounded extremely skeptical about things, then obviously they wouldn’t get to that conclusion without putting a lot of thought on it.

“Thank you, John. We will be glad to use your help.” Sherrinford smiled. “To be honest I’m not surprised it didn’t take long to convince you.”

John crossed his arms. “Is that so?”

“Yes.” The copper haired man leaned against the nearest wall. “You’re too smart not to see the truth.”

“But you barely know me.” John challenged.

“True. In fact, I am not opposed to the idea of knowing you better.” Sherrinford pulled away from the wall and squared his shoulders, stepping closer to John. “If you allowed me that.”

John giggled low. “Funny, I had the impression you weren’t the kind to ask for permission.”

Sherrinford arched an eyebrow, looking impressed. “I thought that was a nice thing to do.”

“Nice, yes. But that didn’t sound like a ‘Sherrinford thing’ to do.” John pressed.

Sherrinford smirked. “My ways can be a little too… Direct. It usually scares people.”

“Do I look like the kind that gets scared easily?” It was John’s turn to arch his eyebrows.

“Certainly not. Still, maybe you wouldn’t like to know what I think about you.” Sherrinford could barely hide his grin.

John decided to walk towards him, stopping a meter away. “I think we can both agree that ‘maybe’ is the key word in that sentence.” John put his arms on his waist. “Tell me. Or are you afraid of doing so?”

Sherrinford gave another step. “Oh I’m not. “ He ran one of his hands across his hair, and John’s heart beat a little faster – he hope with all his strength that the handsome man hadn’t heard him. “If you’re insisting so much I might just tell you…” He cleared his throat. “Since the first time I looked at you – and I must admit I was not in my perfect mental faculties back then, but still – I find you to be quite splendorous.”

John threw his head back and laughed. “Splendorous? Like carnival in Venice?”

“No, nothing so vulgar.” Sherrinford closed his eyes for a moment before he continued. “More like… A Greek marble monument. The kind that leaves you speechless and you can’t just let it out of your head because it’s so beautiful and different from everything you’ve seen…”

John hoped he didn’t look so taken aback like he felt. He had never heard such beautiful words in his life. The only person that complimented him was Harry and she didn’t count for she was his big sister and that was part of her job. His mother used to say good things about him too; and his father… The best thing his father had ever said to him was ‘ _this black eye definitely suits your scarred face’_. For a moment he didn’t know what to say, but finally after some quiet seconds he shook his head and smiled.

“Have you ever gone to a beach?” John asked, eyes on his feet.

Sherrinford looked confused but shook his head anyway. “No. Why?”

“There is a moment in the afternoon right before the sun starts to set, that all the clouds gather at one point in the sky, creating this great shadow on the sea. What once was blue, turns into green. A dark and deep green that always made me feel… Good. Like for once in my day I am okay with myself.” John sighed, looking up at Sherrinford. “That’s the colour of your eyes. And that’s how I feel when I look at you.”

No one spoke for some minutes. Sherrinford just stood there; hands dropped beside his body, mouth slightly opened, eyes wide, face with a light shade of pink. John thought the adjective ‘adorable’ fit the vision; although he was surprised he’d ever used this word on Sherrinford. After a while the silence began to grow uncomfortable, and John shifted his weight from foot to foot until he could take no longer. “Sherrinford? Are you alright?”

Instead of answering, the man walked with a sudden determination in those shocked eyes towards John who could do anything but wait. The curly young circled John’s waist with his arms and pressed their bodies together. John was frozen, didn’t know what he was supposed to do until he saw Sherrinford’s mouth coming close and close and close…

“No, Sherrinford. Not like this.” John put both hands on the taller man’s chest. “Impatient sod. Too soon in a too complicated environment.”

Sherrindord made a frustrated noise but stepped away – but not too much. “Environment? You mean the tower? We can mo—“

John snorted. “No! I don’t know if you noticed, but there is a beast running around the town killing young girls, in which one of them is your own cousin!” John brushed his face with his hands, panting. “I’m sorry… I shouldn’t mention her like that. But… You know. I don’t think that’s the time to think about… Relationships.”

Before Sherrinford could answer, though, through the corner of his eyes John saw a figure moving from behind a column. He turned to look and almost gasped when his eyes touched Sherlock Holmes’ austere image.

“Sherlock!” Sherrinford exclaimed, angry. “How long have you been here?!”

“Long enough to know you deserve to be disinherited. And long enough to know John is better with me, helping on the search of the creature.” Sherlock calmly answered, although John could hear some edginess on his tone. In fact, his usually composed porcelain face was peppered with color. John didn’t know what to think of that. “Are you coming with me?”

John glanced at both Holmes before replying. “Yes.”


	8. Walking against the flow

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi people!
> 
> Thank you all for the support! Keep commenting please, it makes me inspired and happy! :D  
> Sorry this chapter is not big, but I promise the next one will be larger! (:
> 
> So, this chapter is not beta'd or britpicke'd, so please forgive my many mistakes!
> 
> Hope you enjoy it :*

 

Sherlock was _boiling_ inside – which was unusual enough for him – but what made everything worse was the fact that he knew pretty well what was causing it. Just remembering the words Sherrinford was saying to John made his stomach twist. He had never felt something like that before, but he could recognize it as jealousy. He had known ordinary people felt it quite easily, but he never thought _he_ would be able to feel the same. Sherlock wouldn’t let himself be too scared, though, it was only natural he wanted John’s attention, after all the boy was smart enough and came from a different land which always made things more interesting. Obviously he was jealous because he knew his brother was not the right choice of company for someone like John. Sherrinford was common and plain, John certainly deserved a better friend. _Friend_. He had never had a friend apart from his late cousin. Would John want to be his friend? He seemed to actually enjoy being around him, which was unprecedented – again, apart from his late cousin.

“Where are we going?” John asked.

Sherlock looked to the shorter boy that walked beside him. They were close and Sherlock could see some small scars on John’s beautiful face. _Beautiful face. Since when do I stop to think about beauty?_ He knew he wasn’t thinking about beauty, he was thinking about John. And he wondered why those scars were there, they didn’t look like natural or caused by any disease. There was a sick feeling in Sherlock’s gut when he thought about another possibility, but he shook it off for the moment. Instead he let the sense of relief of seeing John with him flood his body.

“To the riverbank. There might me traces of the beast there.” Sherlock answered.

John nodded. “Do you think it’s a pack as people are saying?”

“No. If there were a pack half of this village would be dead by now.” Sherlock said as they kept walking quickly.

“Aren’t we getting horses?”

“I prefer to walk if you don’t mind.”

“Not at all.” John turned to smile at Sherlock, and the taller man ignored the shivers that the expression brought to his body.

They walked in silence for a couple of minutes until John finally decided to break it. “Look, I don’t know what you thought about the—“

“John.” Sherlock abruptly stopped. “It’s really no business of mine what you do in your spare time. I heard you were at the tower and I wanted to recruit you to this particular mission, that’s it.” He said before resuming his quick steps.

John struggled to keep up with the brunette’s long legs. “Alright. I just wanted to let you know in case… I don’t know. I’m not really looking for any kind of relationships around here. God knows I had my fair share with crazy people in this life… Not that you or your brother are crazy! That’s not—“

“Seriously, John, do shut up and keep up. Would you?” Sherlock definitely did not pay attention to the sting he felt in his chest at John’s words. He didn’t mind them at all. Of course not.

John indeed did not dare to say another word until they were on the riverbank. The current of the Glaslyn was stronger than earlier, but the amount of water was the same. There were several rocks in the middle of the river, which would make easier for them to cross it. Sherlock stepped onto one of the biggest carefully; the surface was wet and slippery but good enough to keep still. Slowly and attentive he jumped from rock to rock until he got to the other side. When he arrived he stared at John who was jumping to the third rock. The blonde was almost there when he slipped; Sherlock quickly gave two large steps and promptly caught the boy in his arms.

“Are you alright?” The genius asked, frowning. His heart beat faster at the possibility of John hurting himself. He wouldn’t allow it to happen.

John was helped by the taller man until he was safe on the steady ground. “Yes. I’m sorry, my leg sometimes… Anyway, should we separate?”

Sherlock got a bit distracted by the comment of the leg – was it another scar, an injury, a trauma, a cracked bone? - and missed John’s last question. “What?”

“I said: should we separate? To look for the traces.” John arched an eyebrow.

“Oh”, Sherlock considered for a moment. “No. The few chances we will have against the beast increase considerably if we stay together.”

“Alright then.” John stepped a few meters away and crouched on the floor, but after a few seconds he cleared his throat and turned to look at Sherlock who was doing the same thing on another spot. “Err… What exactly are we looking for? I mean, I know… Traces. But, which traces?”

“The body was found on that rock over there, according to my cousin. The possibilities for that occurrence are two: either the woman was already bleeding out and wounded and tried to cross the river with no success, or she was carried there by the beast. Which one do you think it’s more possible?”

“The beast carried her. If her body was anything like your cousin’s – I’m sorry about that – she wouldn’t have the strength to walk, imagine jumping rocks to cross the Glaslyn.” John said, brows adorably furrowed.

“Exactly.” Sherlock confirmed, proudly. “The question was and still is: why? Why are these creatures showing off?”

“I have a better question: where are they hiding?” John rummaged in some foliage and pebbles on the ground. “They need to sleep sometime, right?”

“Not necessarily. You heard what my useless brother said, they’re half human. What if they sleep when they’re human?” Sherlock stood up taking some stones to observe closer.

“Even though, they would need a place to hide.” John said absently, eyes roaming the place.

“They could come back to the village and sleep on their human beds in their human houses, and no neighbor would suspicious a thing.”

“Wouldn’t they? I believe after they turn human they need new clothes and a time to recover, if they came back recently turned then people would definitely notice… Their behavior would be clearly observed.” John spoke, back turned to Sherlock as he knelt to look closely for something he wasn’t sure he would find.

Sherlock thought for a moment. They didn’t know the exact amount of time the person was the beast and human, and they wasn’t sure of how the person’s nervous would be and how they would feel. The people of Beddgelert were usually too calm and inattentive, but even the simplest mind would notice an odd behavior coming from a close neighbor, especially since everybody knew everybody in that small place. _John is right_. He can’t remember the last time he admitted someone else beside himself was right. John was proving to be a first to many things in Sherlock’s life.

“Then they have a hiding place to keep their clothes and things, so they’ll look more composed and normal as if nothing had happened when they go back to their houses.” Sherlock finally said, voice low and quiet.

“Yes!” John moved to glance at the genius; his dark blue eyes sparkling. “And there’s no better place for it to be than the forest. Correct?”

“Correct.” Sherlock could almost smile at John’s cleverness, but he decided to keep that to himself.

“Oh Sherlock, look I found something!” John suddenly exclaimed standing up with something on his hand. “It looks like a headband.” He said reaching it to Sherlock who immediately took it.

It was a lilac satin headband with some golden details in crochet; it was damp, dirty and torn at the edges. “Where did you find it?”

“Right there.” John pointed at a spot on the grassy floor.

Sherlock hummed low in his throat. “So the beast dragged Ms. Graham through that direction. Which doesn’t necessarily mean that its cache is there.”

“But it’s a good place to start, isn’t it?” John grinned, enthusiastically.

“Yes, it is. But… Are you sure?” Sherlock looked down.

“Sure of what?” John frowned.

“I know you’ve come so far, but you really don’t need to keep going if you don’t want to. I’ll understand, you—“ Sherlock said lifting his eyes, but John cut him off.

“Oh please, as if I had something more exciting to do! Besides, I think you need me.” John said in a teasing tone, grinning smugly.

Sherlock just snorted and kept walking towards the mysterious forest. Although, inside he was smiling widely and thinking heavily: _Yes, I think I need you._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Glaslyn River:  
> http://www.beenthere-donethat.org.uk/images.big/beddgelert02abig.jpg


	9. Always tearing at the seams

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi people!
> 
> I'm sorry it took me a long time to update it!  
> Thank you all for the support, you're amazing!
> 
> Please forgive my mistakes, this chapter is not beta'd or britpicke'd.
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it! x

 

They were tired and exhausted. Even though the weather was cool with a good breeze sometimes touching their hairs, Sherlock and John had droplets of sweat running down their foreheads. The genius turned his head to look at John who currently had his arms resting on his knees, blonde hair damp and mussed, and chest panting heavily. Sherlock didn’t know exactly what attracted him so much to that scene. To John. The only thing he knew was that John was indeed very attractive to his eyes and he couldn’t stop staring at him any chance he got. He had never felt this urge to just _look_ at someone else before, but then again John was proving to be his first in many things.

They had been walking into the forest for far too long with only a few clues and tracks pointing towards the beast’s cove, and they weren’t even sure if it was in fact the beast’s hideout or just any other animal’s. Sherlock felt unease and insecure but he kept it out of his haughty face, John couldn’t know that. Was he showing off to John? Well, that wouldn’t be exactly news, right? Sherlock usually liked to show how intelligent and how things around him were so ordinary and foolish for his brilliant mind, so that was it, right? But why it felt different? Why everything involving John felt so bloody different?

“Sherlock? Are you having one of your reveries?” John asked, voice hoarse from thirst.

Sherlock shook his dark curls that were stick and wet on his forehead and barely got out of place with the movement. “Yes, my mind palace is rather…”

“Enormous?” John smirked, snapping his arms above his head.

Sherlock couldn’t help but smiling back. “Quite.”

“Alright, so can’t you use your quite enormous mind palace to help us find the bloody cove?” John crossed his arms and arched one blonde eyebrow.

Sherlock snorted. “I’m trying, but this creature knows how to hide its traces. It’s… Odd.”

“Are you serious? _Odd_? That’s the best word you can use to describe this entire situation? Because I’m sure I can find at least a thousand other expressions to…”

“Shh…” Sherlock interrupted John’s rambling, pressing his forefinger to his lips.

John frowned and put his hands on his hips. “Don’t you ask me to ‘shh’ Holmes!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “John, be quiet. I heard something.”

The blonde immediately shut up and bit his bottom lip – Sherlock tried not to think of how obscene that gesture seemed to him. He gave two long steps and crouched next to a tree, turning his head to gesture at John to come closer to him. The shorter boy promptly followed and so they were both there just listening and watching their surrounds with attentive eyes and ears. Sherlock didn’t think that was the beast, the steps sounded too light and the movements were too quick for a heavy being, but he wasn’t going to risk it by being loud – maybe if he were alone, but not with John there.

His answer came when the noise became clearer and closer until they both jumped back, falling side by side on the earthy ground. Sherlock was ready to cover John’s body with his if necessary, but then he saw it. The once causing all the distress. A hedgehog. A small and obtuse hedgehog. Sherlock sighed in relief and stood up, reaching a hand to help John doing the same.

“Oh Lord, a hedgehog?” The blonde laughed. “I’ve never been happier to see a hedgehog!”

Sherlock gave a low chuckle. “Looks like you.”

John looked adorably affronted, but there was something light behind those lovely dark blue eyes. “I beg your pardon?”

Sherlock walked forward so he was face to face with John. He couldn’t hide the smirk of his face, but he chose to say nothing while he slowly touched John’s shoulder to brush a few leafs off of it. John looked confused for a moment before clearing his throat and stepping back. Sherlock then had the confirmation that he also had some kind of effect on John. That only made the smirk grow wider. “Haven’t you noticed?”

“Noticed what?” John asked, clasping his hands behind his back.

“That you look like a hedgehog.” Sherlock teased.

“That’s absurd. I—“

“You’re small but compact, adorable but brave, short legged but fast.” Sherlock listed, arching one eyebrow.

John gasped. “Adorable? I’m not adorable!”

“Oh no, of course not.” Sherlock said in a sarcastic tone, dropping his head in fake apology.

John covered his face with both hands and shook his head. “We won’t find anything today, it’s getting dark…”

“You’re right. We’ll have to continue our search later. That is, if you want to.”

“Well, you offend me in every opportunity you have, and you seem to forget my presence sometimes, no telling when you just lock yourself inside your mind…” John stopped to take a breath. Sherlock’s body stiffened. “But bloody hell if I give up now.” John finished with a smile, but the smile went away when Sherlock kept staring at him without blinking. “Sherlock? That means yes, I want to keep searching with you. Alright?”

Sherlock couldn’t answer just yet. He was still thinking about something John said. _“and you seem to forget my presence sometimes…”_  How could John think that when lately he’s been the only thing Sherlock can think about?

* * *

 

Mycroft sipped his tea and sighed. He felt uneasy, and the burial he had just attended wasn’t the reason of it. It was the beginning of evening of the third day since the attacks had started – since he found his cousin’s dead body. Sherlock had arrived home late the day before and it took a lot of effort to extract the truth out of him. And that wasn’t the only shocking admission he had heard that night. That was the reason why he was currently sitting at the wooden table across from Mrs. Hudson at the inn, waiting for John to finish his bath so he could talk to him.

“What is it, Mycroft dear? You seem worried.” The old lady said before taking a piece of cake.

Mycroft suppressed another sigh. “There is a beast running around town and killing our people, Mrs. Hudson. So yes, I’m worried.”

Mrs. Hudson didn’t seem offended when she spoke. “I know about it, dear, but there’s something more. Am I wrong?”

No, Mrs. Hudson was not wrong. Although Mycroft had his doubts about what exactly was making him feel like that. Maybe a junction of two things. First, almost an entire day had passed without another obit. Of course Mycroft was glad about it, but he couldn’t help but feeling something bad was about to happen. Maybe another killing, or even worse. _What could be worse?_ And then the second matter in his mind: John. The night before he was extremely mad at Sherlock, not only because he decided to investigate without saying a word to him, but also for taking John along. John Watson was not made to be put in danger – although the blonde did seem to enjoy it.

“Mycroft?” John’s voice echoed. The ginger turned his head to look at the short boy entering the dinner room.

And he looked beautiful as usual. Mycroft stood up by instinct and made a little reverence for John who did the same. The blonde walked past Mycroft and sat at table before greeting his aunt. Mycroft kept still but turned his eyes to Mrs. Hudson now. “Would you mind giving us some privacy, Mrs. Hudson? I promise we won’t take long.”

“Fair well, but don’t be too harsh on him, Mycroft. I’m sure anything my nephew did was influenced by your brother.” She said before standing up with a sigh and walking out of the room.

“Forgive me, John, for coming here without previous notice.” Mycroft apologized, taking another sip of his now barely warm tea.

“No worries, Mycroft. And I just want to let you know I’m doing it because I want to, and not because Sherlock is obliging me.” John said, spreading some jam on his piece of bread.

“I know, John. I’m sure you wouldn’t do anything against your will.” Mycroft hesitated before continuing. “I am here because, truth be told, I’m worried about your situation with my younger brother.”

“Why? Sherlock seems reasonable enough to--”

“Not Sherlock.” Mycroft closed his eyes for some seconds before staring back at John. “Sherrinford.”

John seemed startled by this, he clearly wasn’t expecting it. Clearing his throat, John said “Did he… I’m not sure why you would come here…” John blinked a couple of times and a faint blush covered his cheeks.

Mycroft thought that was more than adorable but decided to keep the thought quiet for a while. “He likes to kiss and tell, John, quite literally I must say.”

John’s eyes widened and his hands rose immediately. “What? We—We didn’t kiss, Mycroft. I don’t know what he told you, but—“

“Don’t worry, John, I know. But I also know he tried. And he will keep trying until he finally achieves what he wants.” Mycroft’s tone was cold, but he tried to keep it as light as he could. “Sherrinford has a certain _fame_ , John. You’re new here, but I’m sure you don’t want your name anywhere near such accusations.”

John considered for a moment, his eyes low staring at nothing particular on the table while his fingernails were scratching the dish. Finally he looked up and there was some kind of determination in those piercing dark blue eyes. “Why do you care?” John said, tone serious.

That actually took Mycroft by surprise. He looked everywhere but at John for some seconds, thinking about what he would say. “I see great potential on you, John.”

“Potential? For what?” John frowned adorably.

“To become a doctor.” Mycroft simply said.

John coughed a couple of times and touched his lips with the napkin tissue. “Forgive me.” He took a deep breath. “How did you know that?”

“I’m as observant as Sherlock, John. In fact, I dare to say I am better than he is.” Mycroft couldn’t help a smug smile to cross his face. “Now you can count with our family’s support for that to happen, if… You back away from Sherrinford. My brother is a good person, but he has no limits and therefore no respect amongst the powerful peers. I understand that he is rather… Charismatic, but I seriously advise you to keep your distance and discretion if you want the best for your career.”

John just stared at him for a couple of seconds, mouth gaped and an astonished expression on his delicate and strong face. Then shaking his head and chuckling darkly, he said. “If advises were good they would be sold, not given. Now if you excuse me, I have better things to do.”

Mycroft’s mind - for the first time in years - could not find the proper words to answer. Instead he just watched as John stood up and exited the room.

* * *

 

John could not believe Mycroft had the courage to say that to him. Sherrinford was his own brother, how could he speak about him as if he was a shame to his family? It is true the middle Holmes was uncontrolled and something of a libertine, but no one should be treated or spoken that way by their own blood. John wouldn’t let himself be intimidated by the older Holmes’ brother; he would do whatever he wanted to do and deal with the consequences later. He didn’t need the Holmes family to be a doctor, he was darting and intelligent enough to make it on his own even if it took many more years.  Mycroft Holmes was charming and certainly handsome, John couldn’t lie to himself and say he didn’t feel attracted towards the man – just like he did with the other two Holmes, those bloody attractive people – but John would never sell his spirit like that.

The blonde just kept walking without paying much attention to where he was going. He knew he was entering the forest, but he wasn’t sure from each way; everything looked pretty much the same with the lack of sunlight. John knew Harry would probably kill him if she found out he was going to the forest at night unaccompanied, but an idea had popped into his mind and he just couldn’t let go. He also didn’t think it was fair to drag Sherlock into this; it was indeed risky to search the woods at this time of the evening with a wild beast that kills people around. John shook those thoughts away and diverted from some aggressive branches on his way.

There was nothing to be heard but his footsteps and heavy breathing, which he took as a good sign. John was glad his vision was good because he had decided to go without any torch so he wouldn’t not call attention. With any luck that could be a night where the beast was on its human form and probably far away from there. But John had no luck, so he had brought a knife on his robes just in case – not that would make a very big difference considering the beast’s size.

John’s idea appeared to him as he was bathing and having a few nostalgic thoughts about his old late dog Baskie, who loved to pee everywhere around their house to mark his territory. If the beast was anything like a wolf or a dog, it would probably have the same instinct and the urine would smell really strong. John remembered smelling something odd last time they were there but didn’t mind much. Now he had all of his senses sharp and ready to spot something helpful.

It was getting really dark and John was having no success in his search. He started to regret ever going there in the first place when he heard it. The sound he listened to in his first night at Beddgelert. That was no hedgehog. John immediately froze and leaned against a tree, lowering his body until he was sat on the roots. His left hand went to grab the knife but stopped when he saw it. It looked mostly like the first one they had killed, but the colors were all different. While the other was all black and grey tones, this one was white and beige with bright blue eyes. John knew these details because the creature was a few meters away from him, staring right to his eyes. The blonde couldn’t move a single limb, he felt extremely vulnerable and he realized he had nothing more to do but being ready to face death.

The beast howled and gave a long jump that almost made John close his eyes and wait for the attack, but instead he kept them open and glared back at the animal who just stopped right in front of him. In any other occasion John would have frowned in confusion at the lack of aggressiveness or growling. It touched one big paw on John’s thigh, which made his short body stiff impossible more. After that the beast moved so it was even closer to John, its snout coming to sniff at John’s armpits and then neck.

John was panting hard and his hands were shaking with the adrenaline. He didn’t have a clue of what was going on but oddly he didn’t feel in danger any more. He even thought he could reach to touch the creature’s fur but before he could do that it suddenly pulled its head back to look at another way.

“John?!”

The beast growled at the voice and with one last look to John it disappeared out of his sight, leaving one not so scared, slightly disappointed and completely confused John Watson behind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh do you have a Twitter account? If you do and want to follow me, here's my user: @lihquinn  
> (:


	10. The beasts inside

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi lovelies!
> 
> First of all, I want to apologize for taking so long to post another chapter. AND, I'm glad to tell you I'll be posting new chapters every week now to make it up for all the hiatus I put you through. :D
> 
> Just a reminder: this chapter is also not beta'd or britpicked. So, sorry for any grammar mistakes. If you're interested in helping please contact me, I'd love a beta.
> 
> Also, I want to dedicate this chapter to Berenika. You're marvelous. <3
> 
> Hope you all enjoy it! xx

 

“John?!” Mycroft shouted as soon as he heard a few sounds coming from behind some trees.

He wouldn’t admit but his heart was beating so fast he thought it would come out of his mouth any moment soon. He could hear Harriet’s breathing hard behind him, and he was proud of how he could keep his respiratory and nervous system under control.

His thoughts were interrupted, though, when he heard a sharp howl coming from a very close place, he gestured for Harriet and the other two men he had brought to stop and wait. There were some heavy footsteps that were definitely not humans, and for a moment Mycroft was sure he would be attacked by the beast, but fortunately the only thing he saw was the figure of a fair coloured fur running away between some trunks. As soon as he was sure the animal wasn’t coming back he headed forward and spoke aloud, “John? Are you around?”

“Yes! Here. Mycroft?” Came the soft reply.

Mycroft’s knees almost trembled with relief at hearing that voice he was coming to crave.

“Johnny!” Harriet screamed and hurried ahead before Mycroft could react properly. The older Holmes brother cursed himself internally for not being fast enough to be the first one John saw.

The young blond met his sister half away, he looked a bit shaken but otherwise fine, better than Mycroft expected, to be honest. The siblings hugged each other tight and the ginger man spared a second to think he never had that with his brothers; it had never actually bothered him until now. How could John inflict him such thoughts? Those dark blue eyes and silky golden hair had much to them then the eye could tell. Mycroft wasn’t sure if he should love or hate the young man. No, that wasn’t true. He was pretty certain of what he felt.

“How did you know I was here?” John asked, bringing him back from his reveries.

“There aren’t many places one can go here, John. And since your sister said you had disappeared from your room and I knew you weren’t in my place, the forest was the only place I could think of, especially after yours and Sherlock’s little investigation.” Mycroft just barely rolled his eyes, but the act was implicit in his tone. Of course he didn’t mention the fear that boiled his blood the moment the young woman knocked at his door with despair in her voice looking for her little brother.

John frowned for a moment, staring at the Holmes’ guards behind him. “Is Sherlock around?”

“No, I… Didn’t want to worry him.” Mycroft said shaking his head. It wasn’t untrue, but a dark part of him wanted to be John’s savior without his younger brothers around.

“Thank you for that. And… I’m sorry. I-“

“You better indeed apologise, John! You can’t scare us like that. What did you have in mind? Coming out here ALONE in the dark with a monster eating people around!” Harriet shook him by the shoulders, her face flushed with concern and annoyance.

“I know, it wasn’t wise-“

“It bloody hell wasn’t!”

“I’m sorry, Harry. I just needed to check on something…” John looked down.

“Did it have to be at night?!” His sister exclaimed.

Mycroft decided that was the moment to clear his throat to catch the blond siblings attention. “Well, I’m sure you can discuss this in a safer place, yes? Let’s go, the beast is still about the area.”

As Mycroft was turning to walk back to the village, he felt the soft brush of fingers on his right shoulder. He looked back to find John staring at him with that expressive face and those shiny eyes. How many hearts had John broken in his life? Mycroft could only imagine a thousand and more. Who wouldn’t fall in love with this honest, brave, handsome, charming man? He was doomed. John Watson was created to make his world chaotic, he was sure of that.

“Thank you, Mycroft. Thank you for coming after me.” John gave him a shy smile, then took his sister’s hand and walked away before the Holmes.

Yes, he was lost. But damn if he didn’t love being lost for John Watson.

 

**__ **

* * *

“WHAT?” Sherlock shouted on Mycroft’s face.

He couldn’t believe his obnoxious cake-lover despicable older brother hadn’t told him about John gone missing under his nose! He also blamed himself for not realising it sooner. His stomach rolled just thinking about the danger John was in while he had his face buried on some experiment locked in his bedroom completely unaware of the facts going on in the forest. What if something had happened?  What if John had… Sherlock shut his eyes and closed his fists tight, breathing unevenly.

“How dare you? He’s MY friend. I should be the one there!” Sherlock continued, his tone a bit lower but equally threatening - not that he thought his brother would feel threatened at all.

Mycroft sighed and Sherlock felt a strong urge to punch his rounded face. “You couldn’t have done anything that I haven’t. In fact, you would only make things worse with your arrogance and impulsiveness.”

Sherlock gasped and he hated that sound. “Excuse me? MY arrogance? Surely you’re talking about yourself! And… Impulsiveness? You know how rational I am, I can’t-“

“When your mind is clear. But your mind hasn’t been clear for a little while. Am I wrong, brother mine? So yes, you would act on impulse to save John’s life because of your  _feelings_.”

Sherlock threw his head back and gave a bitter loud laugh. “You hypocrite bastard”, he growled. “You’re almost as enthralled as I am. Do you think I can’t see it?” Sherlock almost spit the words. He hated that he could see it; not only on Mycroft but on Sherrinford too. John had managed to get a grip on the three Holmes brothers and Sherlock would get mad at the blond man for that if he wasn’t mentally and physically unable of having negative feelings towards the young foreign.

Mycroft hesitated for at least five seconds before answering with a determined voice, “What I feel or not feel is my business and no one else’s. And differently from you, I wouldn’t allow it to blur my mind. I am still myself.”

Their argument stopped the moment they heard a cynical giggle coming from the door. Sherrinford was leaned on the frame, arms crossed and the definition of smug written all over his face. Sherlock wished he could grab both his brothers by the ears and hit their heads together in one strong motion. Maybe that would teach them a lesson.

“You two are hilarious.” Sherrinford took a moment to catch his breath while Sherlock and Mycroft glared daggers at him. “I am too, if I’m to be honest. Well, we’re in for a lost battle, brothers. John is already interested on someone and it’s not a man.”

Sherlock felt his heart sunk and he almost lost his balance. He hated himself for being so affected by a couple of words, but it seemed like his chest was being smashed by an anvil. He could hear a piercing sound cutting through his ears like a sharp knife. Was that the sound of his heart breaking?

“Good for John. I’m sure his love is requited.” Mycroft said, or at least that’s what Sherlock’s confused mind thought he heard.

“That’s funny, Mycroft. Not even our dead dog would believe that.” Sherrinford said, his voice full of mockery. “It hurts, brother. But I thought I should warn you.”

“You don’t look too upset yourself. I wonder if you bought the lie you don’t care.” Mycroft retorted.

“I don’t. Lie to myself, that is. I’m aware of what I feel and should anyone ask I’ll tell them the truth. I’m not emotionally repressed as the two of you.” Sherrinford stated, arching his eyebrows.

There was an uncomfortable silence and Sherlock felt his older brother’s fingers gripping his arm gently enough to bother him. “Sherlock? Are you okay?”

He snapped Mycroft’s hand away and strode to get out of the room, but before he passed through the door he stopped right in front of Sherrinford. Silver eyes met blue in a silent challenge.

“What?” His brother asked, disguising his tense tone.

“Who is she?” Sherlock tried not to snarl, but his efforts were down the hill.

“You know who she is.” Sherrinford simply tilted his head back. “Mary Morstan.”

 Yes, he knew. He knew it alright. That didn’t make things better at all. He needed to do something but he wasn’t sure what or how.

“Give up, Sherlock. We have more important matters to deal with, remember?”

Yes, of course. The beast. But now Sherlock had  _two_ beasts to put down.

He left the room without a word back.

**__ **

* * *

 

“I'm starting to wonder if that was a good idea at all.” Harry exclaimed, tying her sleeping robes around her waist.

“What do you mean?” John asked, taking a sip of his comforting warm tea.

“Coming here. To this bloody town. Bloody seems like the good adjective.” She shook her head and sat on the bed.

"You know we had no choice. It was either coming here to find aunt Hudson or being homeless and hungry. I don't regret it and you shouldn't either.” John was also wrapped on his thick sleeping clothes, with big furry socks. He could still feel the frozen air from the forest on his skin.

“Of course you don't regret it! You're too impressed! You think this whole 'mistery' is something interesting, and those brothers....” His sister sighed and ran a hand through her blonde locks. “I don't think they're good company. I'm thankful for Mycroft helping me to find you today, but still... The way they all look at you. It's not right.”

“Harry...” John started, brow furrowed, but she interrupted him.

“This place is clearly not safe, be for the monster or the Holmes brothers. Maybe we could gather some money and leave. I could work somewhere, I--”

“Harry. Stop. Please, it's going to be alright. We've been through worse things, and we managed to come out alive, didn't we?” He tried to reassure her.

She closed her eyes for a second. “Our father was a cruel man, it's true. But he was human. We were able to take him down because he was just a man. A drunk man.” Harry leaned against her pillow and sighed again. “Now this beast? We don't know what it is. How many  more there are out there? We don't know, nobody knows. And the brothers...”

“Sometimes I think you're using the beast as an excuse. Your true foes are the Holmes brothers. But you're wrong, Harry. They're not your enemies. They're just lost. Aren't we all? They won't hurt me.”

“Johnny...” Her tone turned soft. “Look, after everything that happened to us I just can't trust anyone else. Specially not another man. In this case, three men. Can you imagine if they were mad at you for something and decided to join forces and attack, and and... Father was one, we couldn't get three, Johnny. We, we--”

John put his teacup on the dresser and walked to his flushed sister, sitting near her in bed. He pulled her to his arms and kissed the top of her head. “Shhh. You trust me, right?”

“You know I do. Only you.” She whispered against his chest.

“And I trust Sherlock Holmes. I think I even trust the other brothers as well. Their costumes are different from ours but they're nothing like father, I can tell you that much. We won't ever have to do that again, Harry. Ever. Alright? I wish I could take all the trauma away from you.” He murmured against her hair.

“I think you're right. Even if I don't like this idea, I need to admit you're being the rational one right now.” She was silent for a moment before speaking again. “And I wish you didn't have to take part on all that violence. I'm really sorry, Johnny. I will never forgive myself for it.”

John knew she was on the verge of tears. Harry was always so strong, she was his hero, the one he most admired. But he knew sometimes all the dark things from their past came crawling into her head and she couldn't help but breaking down.  He also had his moments – nightmares full of screaming and red images. It didn't matter,  though, as long  as they were there to fix each other again . He held his sister tighter. “There's nothing to forgive you for. You saved our lives, Harry. And  _I_ 'm sorry you had to get your hands dirty. I wished it was me. You're much stronger than me. I love you.”

Harry giggled weakly. “That I am. But truth be told, I'd do it all again if it meant your safety. And if any of these brothers try to mess with you, they'll see what a true beast is.” They both chuckled for a moment, the heavy atmosphere dissipating a little. “I love you too, Johnny. Now, let's sleep,  young man. ”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hesitate to leave comments! (;


	11. Ghosts on Shoulders

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please heed the new tag.

 

“ _John, where are you? Come out now, I want to talk to you.”_

_John was barely moving from his hiding place under the dinner room's table. His little chubby hand was on his mouth just in case he breathed to loud. He was glad Harry was out at the library, otherwise she'd get the worse beating just for having their mother's eyes. John didn't have his mother light blue eyes, but he had her dimples and his father wasn't pleased by that either. Specially when he was so drunk._

“ _Come on, Johnny, papa just wants to talk to you...”_

_The little blond boy knew his father had entered the room by the strong smell of alcohol he brought with his presence. It was expected, of course. He had stayed away for the past night which usually meant he would arrive the next day completely pissed and moody, holding to any excuse to beat their children until they passed out. John still had fading bruises behind his clothes; and Harry had some that not even her longest dresses could hide._

“ _I'm losing my patience, John! I know you're around!” His father slurred voice shout cut through the house walls._

_John was trying to keep calm. His little heart was beating so fast and the hand on his mouth was sweating. It didn't matter how many times he went through this, he would always be afraid. He tried to be a brave boy, like his mummy had asked him to be when she died, but it was so difficult around his father. If he could hold on for a little longer then the drunk man would go upstairs to look for him in his bedroom and he would be able to run to the garden and hide until Harry arrived._

_The steps were getting more distant, and John listened to a bottle being dropped somewhere down the hall. He removed the hand from his lips and sighed heavily. He was about to sneak away from under the table when he felt strong hands gripping his little legs harshly, pulling him out._

“ _Find you, boy!”_

 

John woke up startled, gasping for air. It took a few seconds for him to realise he was at Mrs. Hudson's place and not at his old home. He let his head drop on the pillow and tried to calm his breathing. _It's okay, it's okay. He's dead, John._ He repeated that to himself until he felt safe enough to get up. The room was light from the sunshine coming through the windows, probably late morning already.

He dressed as fast as he could and went downstairs to see if he could catch at least some warm tea. When he arrived, his aunt was on her usual chair reading a book. “Good morning! Forgive me, I didn't sleep very well.”

Mrs. Hudson looked up from her book and gave him a fond smile. “Good morning! Oh, it's okay, dear. There's still some tea if you want.”

“Oh, yes. Thank you.” He smiled, reaching across the table to pour himself some. “Have you seen Harry today?”

The older woman shook her head. “No, dear. I thought she was still sleeping as well, to be honest. Haven't seen her coming down this morning.”

John frowned. “No, she was already gone when I woke up. That's odd.”

“Oh don't worry, dear! I'm sure she had breakfast when I was talking to Mrs. Turner, the neighbour. That's why I didn't see her.” She tried to soothe him with a small but sincere smile.

“Yes, of course. She is probably around the yard or something. I'll look for her when I finish here.”

 

Three hours and a half later and John still had no sign of his sister. He was really worried then. It was unusual of her to just disappear like that without even a note. He asked the neighbours and shop owners around and no one had even seen her passing by. John tried not to relate this to the beast in his mind. But the more he looked for Harry the more desperate he got. But it couldn't be the beast. How would that be possible? Harry slept with him, and there was no way the creature could have entered the bedroom without him waking up. It was also quite improbable for Harry to have gone to the forest by herself since she wanted as much distant from that place as possible. If the beast had attacked her somewhere nearby someone from the town would have seen it already. _Damn, Harriet, where are you?_

He leaned against the brick wall of a random store and hold his face between his hands. He could ask for Sherlock's help. No, he needed to deal with this by himself. It was his sister after all. He was getting ready to move when a hand touched his shoulder lightly.

“John? Is everything okay?”

The blond boy looked up to find Mary staring at him with a concerned expression on her long face. He couldn't help but give her a weak smile. “Yes--I mean, no. It's my sister. I haven't seen her today yet and that's really strange. She never does that.”

Mary's brow furrowed. “Is your sister fair haired like you? I reckon I saw her once but I didn't pay her much attention, I admit... It was hard when you were right there.” She blushed softly.

“Yes, indeed. We don't look like each other much, but the hair colour is the same.” John replied, flattered but curious. “Thank you.” He thought himself a little bit flushed as well but ignored that. “Why do you ask?”

“Was she wearing a blue sleeping gown when she disappeared?” Mary asked, ignoring his question for the moment.

“Well, when she went to bed she was wearing that, so yes. Have you seen her, Mary?” John put his hands on her shoulders, anxiety slipping from his voice.

“Yes! Or at least I think it's her. The description matches.” Mary grabbed one of his hands and entwined their fingers. “Do you mind?” She asked with a quiet voice.

That was forward for a lady, but John found out he quite enjoyed it. “Yes, of course.” He shook his head quickly. “Mary, please. Where have you seen her?”

She smiled. “Don't worry, come on. I'll take you there.”

He followed her through the small town until they reached a beautiful little house in which the walls were completely covered with shiny stones. It had two floors and small wooden windows adorned by flowers. It looked like a doll house Harry used to have when she was small. Mary never let go of his hand all the way there until they crossed the little fence that separated the property from the road.

“Welcome to the Morstan Estate.” She smiled brightly, gesturing towards the whole composition of garden, house and pond. “It's not as big as Holmes' but it's comfortable enough.”

“It's beautiful.” John said, truthfully. “Is my sister here?” He wanted to spend some quality time with Mary but his priority right then was Harry's whereabouts.

“Yes. Or let us hope it is her!” Mary squeezed his hand and started heading towards the main door. Before she reached the handle, though, she stopped and turned at John. “I really love living here but look, the forest is right next to us.” She pointed at their right where sure enough there was the familiar dark green mass of mysterious trees. “We had some eventualities thanks to this proximity, but we've never been so worried as of lately, with this beast around. That's why my father and brothers were there watching the area this morning when they found the young woman laying down on the dirty ground.”

John's heart skipped a bit. “Is she alright?! Tell me she's alright!”

“She is, worry not. My mum fed and cleaned her. She was sleeping the time I left the house earlier. Come on, let's go in.” Mary opened the door and led them inside.

The front rooms were empty and John couldn't even pay attention to the house's decoration or architecture as they quickly climbed up the stairs and went directly to one of the rooms. There, in one of the two beds, was a very confused looking Harry. John almost died of relief, running to his sister side and grabbing her hand. Harry had her hair loose and head rested against the fluffy white pillow. Her eyes were open but she seemed far away inside her mind.

“Harry? Harry, thank goodness you're okay. What happened? Harry?”

She slowly turned towards him at hearing his voice. “Hm...? Oh. I'm sorry, John. I... Well, I guess I lost myself. I went to explore the area and... I can't remember much, really.”

“Explore the area?” John gasped. “That doesn't sound like you at all.”

“My mum thinks she had some sort of heat stroke, that's why she passed out.” Mary said, getting near the bed and putting a soft hand on John's shoulder. “She may be confused for the rest of the day. I think it's better if you give her some time.”

John nodded. “Yes, you're right. Thank you, Mary. And please, thank your family for me.”

Mary shook her head. “No need to thank us. This is a community, we look after each other. And you and your sister are part of it now.” She smiled, and John felt a sudden urge to kiss her. “If you want, we can go down to have some tea while we let her rest a little more. What do you say?”

Before he could answer, though, there was a knock on the door. Mary let go of his shoulder and went to open it. “Yes? Oh! Hello father. And Mr. Holmes, good to see you.”

At hearing that known last name, John turned to look at the new visitors. Mary's father was an elderly man with very light hair and a sparse beard, he was taller than John and had a bit of a pudge in the middle. Walking right behind him was the older Holmes brother. Mycroft.

John stood up from his crouched position on the floor to greet both men. “Mr. Morstan, it's an honour to meet you. Mr. Holmes, nice to see you again.” It felt odd to be so formal with Mycroft even if they didn't have much intimacy.

“Mr. Watson, is it? Good to finally meet you. Mary hasn't shut up about you since she saw you at Hudson's.” Mr. Morstan spoke with a very colloquial and very accented voice.

“Father!” Mary chastised, her voice firm but her face heating.

“Ah Mary dear, he seems a nice lad! I'm happy for you.” He grinned and petted the top of her head, making her squirm and blush even redder.

John wasn't sure what he was supposed to say. Mr. Morstan wasn't suggesting they were... Was he? Oh lord. He would probably have stammered something stupid if it weren't for Mycroft interrupting the scene rather abruptly. “Mr. Morstan called me here to help identifying the young woman they had found, but now I see that's not necessary anymore. I would still like to know exactly what happened, though. Has she seen the beast?”

John looked at Harry who was soundly sleeping again. He felt very protective of her looking so vulnerable in the middle of a room with so many people. “I don't think so. I don't know yet. We better let her rest. I will ask her, and then I can inform you if it is anything relevant, Mr. Holmes.”

Mycroft seemed to consider him for a moment before nodding. “Alright. Well, I must be going then. Mr. Morstan.”

“I'm sorry, Mr. Holmes. Have I known...” The older man started.

“Oh don't worry, sir. It's perfectly fine. Now, if you excuse me...”

“Wait, Myc—Mr. Holmes! May I have a word with you, please?” John said as soon as Mycroft turned to leave the room. He thought he had heard Mary's little sight of frustration, maybe he was just hearing things. Anyway, he thought it was better to apologise. “Mary, do you mind? We can still drink that tea you promised.”

Her spirits brightened up again. “Yes, of course. Father, shall we?”

The man nodded to their direction and left the bedroom with his daughter.

“Yes, Mr. Watson?” Mycroft's voice was tight and way too formal.

“You know you can call me John, Mycroft.”

 

 


	12. Rain and Sun

 

 “John.” Mycroft said, and John didn't know why he felt tiny shivers run trough his arms at his name being pronounced by that smooth voice.

“I—Ehm... Yes.” John cleared his throat, trying to focus on what he was going to say. “I don't think I thanked you properly for going to my rescue on the forest. So... Thank you. Really, it means a lot.”

“That was nothing. I'd do it for anyone.” Mycroft said coldly.

If that stung John in the heart a bit he would never admit it. Why did Mycroft looked upset? He always had that haughty look – like Sherlock – but he used to be more polite and a little more at easy around John. Had him done something wrong or was it just the beast business troubling his mind?

“Is there a problem?” The blond asked, frowning.

Mycroft seemed to consider him for a moment. There was a strange glim in his eyes but that only lasted a second, soon the indifference mask was on again. “Well, there are many problems...”

“I mean... Between us.” John almost whispered the last part. It was hard staring at those pale blue eyes but he did it again, for some reason it felt important to keep eye contact.

That glim was back and it seemed to endure a little more as his glare travelled across John's face. “Why would it be? We don't even have _something_ between us.” His tone was bitter and his expression was almost a pained one. Or maybe John was imagining things.

“Do you want us to have?” The words left the shorter boy's mouth before he could filter them so he had to clear his throat again to add quickly, “I mean, friendship. We... We could be friends. Like I am with Sherlock.”

It could be funny if it wasn't worrying to see so many different emotions going through the ginger man's face. John couldn't exactly pinpoint which ones, but it was pretty clear to him that the older Holmes brother wasn't used to _feel_ that much, whatever it was that he was feeling. It appeared to have passed several long moments of silence before Mycroft finally replied him.

“I don't have friends. Differently from my brother I don't need them.” He snapped. And somehow John wasn't offended or even surprised, he just felt sad that Mycroft thought that. He had a strong urge to hug him and tell him that it's okay to want someone by your side, that life is only full when it's shared with a loved one. John, for example, if he didn't have Harry he would have perished long ago all alone in this cruel world of crazy men.

“You say that because you never had one, don't you? But the truth is that we all need someone to lean on. We all need a friend, Mycroft. It's not bad to need one. It's normal.” John tried to say with his smoothest voice, almost as if he was talking to a child.

John thought he was going to get snapped at again, but to his surprise Mycroft seemed really taken aback for a moment, his eyes on the floor. “I'm not normal.” He muttered almost to himself. “I don't need a friend. I'm doing quite well on my own, and I certainly don't need your _pity_.”

“Pity?” John gasped. “No, no. Mycroft, I know inside this ice cold armour lies a warm heart that longs to be held.” The blond continued, not taking his deep blue eyes out of the other's.

“You're raving, boy. You know nothing about me.” The taller one snarled.

“So let me know you. I want to!” John insisted.

Mycroft pinched the bridge of his nose looking very much irritated and tired. “Was that all you wanted to speak? Well, I'm leaving then. I have other business to attend.”

“Mycroft...” John sighed when the man turned to leave the room. Suddenly, though, something clicked on John's mind and he acted almost as if in impulse.

He grabbed Mycroft by the arm and turned him around so the ginger could face the blond again. John cupped his cheeks with his small but strong hands and looked right into those ice eyes that seemed to be melting by their proximity. “You're beautiful, Mycroft. If you ever change your mind I'll be there for you if you need.” And then he kissed the round flushed cheek. Only after he did it he wondered if that was crossing the lines too much and he had destroyed all chances of getting closer to the man. He backed away and went to Harry's side, trying to avoid the older Holmes' stare.

After a couple of seconds he heard steps and the door closing. Sighing in relief he let his face drop to his sweaty hands. _Why do I want to be close to Mycroft Holmes?_

**__ **

* * *

**__ **

“Oh no. Someone else is dead?” Sherrinford asked with a tilt of his head, not sounding a tad bit worried.

“No. Well, at least not yet.” Murray said, cleaning sweat off his forehead with his handkerchief. It was a warm end of afternoon. “But she's disappeared for a couple of hours now.”

Sherrinford snorted. “I've disappeared for more than a couple of hours and nobody panicked. I'm sure she's fine.”

Murray leaned against the back of his chair and took a sip of his ale. “Well, that's because everybody knows what you are usually up to, am I wrong? This girl is not like you, they said she's shy and quiet, never goes too far from her home. I've never talked to her myself, but I've seen her around with her parents, she does seem like the maidenlike type. Besides, there's a crazy animal killing young ladies in town.”

“What's her name again?” Sherrinford asked, still not completely convinced.

“Molly Hooper. Her father's Albert Hooper, our doctor.”

“Oh right. Sure, Dr. Hooper. Didn't know he had a daughter, to be honest.” The Holmes brother shrugged.

“If she were one of those wanton women you like so much surely you would have heard of her.” Murray teased. “Although from what I've heard you are changing sides now...”

Sherrinford laughed and drank a good gulp of his pint, not bothering to pretend to feel offended. “Oh please, everybody knows I always liked both sides. Nobody is brave enough to accuse me of that, though, considering my powerful family.”

“True that, mate. I couldn't care less, don't think that affects your character.” Murray lifted his glass and Sherrinford touched it with his own. “Cheers.”

“Cheers.” They both engulfed the rest of their drinks.

“Oh there you are!” Came a familiar voice from outside the pub. “Haven't you heard? The Hooper girl is gone.”

Sherrinford sighed. “Is she really dead then?” He asked his older brother who had his round annoying face looking flushed from walking fast.

“No, but she can be at any moment now. So we're assembling some people to go looking for her.” Mycroft seemed more impatient than usual.

“The girl is gone for some hours! She's probably at a friend's or picking flowers somewhere!” Sherrinford said, throwing his hands up in exasperation for everybody's extreme worrying.

“Their parents said that had never happened before.” Mycroft ran a hand through his surprisingly mussed hair and then lowered his voice, staring right at his younger brother's green eyes. “We already lost two people for this beast, we cannot take any risks. Now, will you help us or do you want to be known as the village's coward?” Then Mycroft turned to Murray. “You too.”

“I'm going!” Bill exclaimed, jumped out of his chair a bit tipsy from the pints.

“Alright, alright.” Sherrinford stood up, trying to straighten his clothing and wild hair. “Is John going?”

The older Holmes just stared at the auburn haired boy for a moment, seemingly bemused, until he finally answered. “I don't think so. His sister had an accident earlier and he's taking care of her.”

“Ah. That's too bad. His presence is like the sun.” Sherrinford partly said that to tease his brother and also because he really thought that. The English blond boy was something special. Usually when Sherrinford felt attracted to someone there was a limit. He just wanted to sleep with them and be done with it as much pretty as they were. But with John that was different. He didn't want to just bed the boy, he also wanted to cuddle and kiss and caress and cherish him. Sherrinford knew that John wasn't a delicate damsel but he couldn't help comparing him with a precious treasure that needed to be cared for.

Mycroft ignored his statement and just led the way.

They walked until they reached a big group of people in which most men were holding pickaxes and revolvers, and others were carrying lanterns and torches, although the sun had barely set and the sights were still quite clear. Sherrinford shook his head. The village people would never admit but they loved a tragedy, they loved anything that took them away from their routines even if this anything included dead bodies of young girls laying around – as long as it wasn't someone from their families. So it wasn't surprising to see how over-dramatic and excited they were about all of this.

“Where's Sherlock?” Sherrinford asked. If he was being obliged to do this it was only fair his younger brother were too.

“He was supposed to be here.” Mycroft said tiredly.

“He went out to do something and said he'd be back”, his father said as he approached them. “I'll leave with the first group now, we'll go to the left of the forest. Mycroft, you lead the second group to the right. Please, don't let anyone go anywhere alone and don't go too deep into the forest... Be careful, understood?”

“Yes, father. You too, sir.” The older brother acquiesced and watched as they went away.

The second group was composed by Sherrinford, Bill Murray, Mycroft obviously, and four other men that Sherrinford had only met a few times. They had to wait for Sherlock to return from wherever he went and it was clear the men were getting impatient. After some long minutes one of them got tired and finally exclaimed, “Where's the lad at for god's sake?!”

“Right here!”

They all turned their heads to look at where the deep known voice was coming from. Right enough, Sherlock was calmly walking towards them with – to everyone's surprise – John Watson by his side. They didn't seem worried about being late and their faces were flushed and had traces of laugh. Sherrinford didn't know how to describe the little knot that formed inside his stomach at the sight, so instead he chose to ignore and just say, “Finally!”

Mycroft was suddenly very still. He cleared his throat a couple of times before speaking. “Before you start with any excuses... I don't care, Sherlock. Let's just go, we're already far behind. Come on.”

“I wasn't going to give any excuses.” Sherlock said, oddly amused.

The brunet and blond younger boys looked at each other and smiled. Sherrinford could do nothing but give them his back and walk towards the forest.

 


	13. Braving Darkness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello you lovely people!
> 
> I'm so sorry it took me forever to update! Thank you for being so understandable and sweet!
> 
> Usual warning: not beta'd or britpicke'd, so you will probably find some grammar mistakes. Please forgive me!
> 
> Hope you enjoy it! X

“How is you sister, John? I heard she had an accident.” Sherrinford asked without turning his head to look at John.

His older brothers were walking a few steps ahead of him and John, and the rest of the men were some meters behind them. The sun was setting down, what always comforted Sherlock somehow, although in that moment he knew there was a whole different reason he was feeling so calm and light, that reason was the blond short boy walking beside him. He would never admit it, though.

“She is better now. Thanks for asking, Sherrinford.” John answered politely. “Mr. Morstan took her to Mrs. Hudson's. Her head was still aching and she can't remember exactly what happened, but she'll be all right.”

Sherlock didn't hear his brother's reply, his mind was on this strange situation that happened to Harriet Watson. He wished he could have talked or even analysed her right after she was found, but unfortunately the Morstan family was faster. That filled Sherlock's chest with bitterness, bloody Mary Morstan consoling John and being all sweet and helpful. Sherlock could have done that – not the sweet part, but he could have been helpful. John told Sherlock her sister wasn't very fond of wading and she always had a good health and a strong body. Wasn't it odd that this happened right in the middle of a troubled period of beast attacks in the village? And why hadn't the beast attacked Harriet? Did she really forget what happened or was she lying? Too many questions and too little information. Coincidence? Mycroft would say the universe is rarely that lazy. Of course Sherlock had the least sense to not comment his suspicious to John.

“Sherlock?” John's voice called. He realised he was probably quiet for too long. “Are you okay?”

“Yes, yes. Just... Thinking.” He answered slowly.

“You do that a lot.” John chuckled, and Sherlock loved that sound.

They kept walking into the forest, sometimes shouting Molly Hooper's name, but also paying attention to any other sound or movement, but there was nothing. Sherlock was starting to get bored. When he heard another girl had disappeared he felt excited – not that he wanted Molly to be dead – but maybe this would lead them to finally get the beast or at least would give them another clue. But then everything turned tedious and maybe Molly was already safe and sound somewhere. They had no news from his father's group but he wouldn't be surprised if they were out of the forest already.

“We should probably go back.” Sherrinford said as if he was reading Sherlock's mind. “Father said we shouldn't get too deep into the forest. And maybe they have already found her.”

“I doubt that.” Mycroft said. “He would've given us a signal. Let's just walk some more and then we'll go back.”

There was some kind of a collective sigh of frustration, but they all kept walking anyway.

“Do you know her?” John asked suddenly.

“Who?”

“The girl we're looking for. Molly Hooper, right?”

“Oh right. Yes, we have some common interests. She was a friend of Demeter's so we used to spend some time together.” Sherlock said, a bit of melancholy in his voice when he mentioned his late cousin's name. He didn't talk much about it, but he surely missed her deeply.

“I'm sorry.” John said, touching his wrist lightly. He looked straight into his eyes and quickly pushed his hand away, but Sherlock could still feel the warmth from where their skin had connected.

If it was anyone else he would've said something offensive or mocked the gesture but he felt he couldn't do nothing but breathe fast, his heart beating. What right did John Watson have to make him feel that way?

“Okay, I don't think she's around here. Let's go back.” Mycroft turned around and shouted to the rest of the group. “Let's head back to the village!”

This time the sigh was one of relief. They all started to walk back, shoulders a bit down for not having achieved anything. When they were in the middle of the way back to the outside of the forest, they heard a bit of a commotion coming from the group of men that were a bit away ahead of them. Sherlock couldn't really see what was happening, there were other men in front of him obstructing his vision. His older brother stepped from behind him and started to walk to the group when two men came running, looking baffled.

“What happened?” Mycroft asked.

“We saw a shadow moving through the trees, sir. It looked big!” One of them said.

“The others swear they heard a growl too. They're frightened, sir.” The other continued.

Before Mycroft could say anything, there were a few gasps and exclamations and soon it was clear some of the men were running away from there as fast as they could. The ones that decided to stay there got closer to Sherlock, John and his brothers. They all looked quite afraid. Sherlock wondered if they had really seen something or if that was mere a mass hysteria. If the beast was really around it would have surely tried to attack someone by then.

“Running won't help them. The animal is faster.” Mycroft said. “They made too much noise! We will need to be really quiet.”

“We need to go after it!” John whispered.

“We can't now. The only weapons we had just ran away.” Sherrinford argued, he also seemed a bit worried.

“We have pistols.” The three men left murmured at the same time. “But I don't think a pistol would do much of a damage on that large beast, sir.” One of them spoke.

“We might not even need them!” John said.

“We are wasting time standing here! Let's either look for it or go away!” Sherlock complained, looking at Mycroft.

“We are in disadvantage!” Mycroft exclaimed.

“How's that exactly? We are in a bigger number than the beast! Plus, we _think_! We can make a good strategy and...” Sherlock tried, but Sherrinford interrupted him.

“We don't have time for a strategies, Sherlock! The beast is probably observing us right now, choosing which of us look more delicious!”

“Or maybe there is no beast at all! Don't tell me you didn't think about it!” Mycroft annoyingly said.

“But we saw it! We're not lying!” The men stated.

“Maybe you think you saw it, but you're just impressed by the darkness.”

“That's true, and I have thought about it but that doesn't mean the beast isn't around here!” Sherlock threw his arms in the air.

“What can we do then?! Anything is better than just standing here arguing like oafs!” Sherrinford rolled his eyes. He was rarely that impatient.

“Let's divide ourselves in groups...” Sherlock tried.

“No. Father wouldn't want that...” Mycroft cut him again.

“Father is not here in this bloody situation! We might separate and...”

“We are barely a full group! It's not safe...”

“It's certainly not safe to stay here doing nothing!” Sherlock almost screamed exasperated the way he was.

“Mycroft, Sherlock...”

Both Holmes ignored their middle brother. “Sherlock, don't raise your voice. You're not helping!”

“Neither are you. In fact you're being quite a...”

“Brothers...” Sherrinford muttered again.

“Not now, Sherrinford.” Mycroft said dismissively.

“Listen to me, the two of you!” He snarled loudly.

That got Mycroft and Sherlock's attention. They both turned their heads at him, expressions stained with anger. “What is it?” The younger Holmes asked.

Sherrinford gestured around. “Where is John?”

* * *

 

John sighed. The Holmes brothers could be impossibly insufferable! They rather waste time bickering with each other instead of actually doing something. They just had lust for being better and smarter than everyone else. Theory was more important than practice for them. That was never the case for John, he would rather take an action than talk about it, as impulsive as that might sound. And that was the reason he had taken advantage of their distraction to sneak away from the battle of wits. The blond had no voice amongst them so he couldn't just sit and wait to see which conclusion they might reach. Better to take matters into his own hands.

After that last encounter with the beast, John didn't feel so afraid anymore. Not that he would try to hug the creature if he met it, but he wouldn't desperate. He would try to be calm, maybe it would recognise him. It was ridiculous to think that the beast knew who John was, but the way those bright eyes had looked at him, the way it had approached him, it held some kind of awkward familiarity. Maybe he was romanticising things, but he couldn't help feeling that way.

He stepped carefully through the roots and sticks on the floor. John could be very quiet and agile when he wanted to. He knew it was a bit reckless to come looking for the creature on his own but he felt an odd sense of confidence, maybe because he didn't really think the beast was around or maybe because he thought he could reason with it – what didn't make much sense because those kinds of creatures didn't _reason_. But what did he know about those creatures? He didn't even understand what it really was, so anything he came up with was nothing but guessing based on his little experience with them.

John just kept moving into the darkness, having nothing but moonlight to illuminate his way. He wondered if the Holmeses had noticed his absence yet. He wouldn't be surprised if they went away and left him behind. He hoped not, though, he wouldn't wanted to be scolded by Harry again. Truth be told: a little bit of dangerous made John feel alive. It's not as if he thought himself as immortal, quite the contrary – and have seen death so close to his eyes so many times had made him resistant. He supposed that was the positive side of everything Harry and he had gone through. He shook his head – no point thinking about that.

Suddenly a noise called his attention. He turned his head and tried to be as still as possible. There was something near him, slowly approaching. His eyes narrowed, trying to see anything moving in the darkness. Another sound made him step back a little, cracking a twig by accident with his foot. He rolled his eyes at himself and decide to walk towards there – he had made a sound anyway, whatever it was around knew he was there already.

“Hello?” John barely whispered, not expecting the creature to answer back – at least not with words.

He advanced a bit more and realised he was really close to where the sounds were coming. With a new strategy he decided to kneel down, maybe that way he wouldn't appear like a threat. “It's okay”, he murmured more to himself than to anyone or anything else.

“H-help...” A faint voice called.

John's eyes widened with shock. It wasn't the creature, it was a person. A person who needed his help. He instantly stood up and quickly walked to where he heard the small voice. It didn't take him long to see her. John had never seen her before but he guessed it was Molly Hooper, the girl they were looking for. She seemed really weak, stumbling through the trees, using some branches to keep her body up. When she saw him her first reaction was to step away, a scared expression on her face. But then she seemed to realise he was just there to help her. “Please...” She whispered.

John carefully put an arm around her waist and with his other lifted her off the ground. He was short but surely stronger than he looked. She wrapped herself on him, trying to protect and hide herself from whatever she was running away from. There was a sick feeling at the bottom of John's stomach. He couldn't hear anything else besides his steps and her heavy breathing.

“You're alright now. You're safe.” He told her.

 


	14. Brass & Gold

Mycroft wanted to be furious at John for adventuring inside the dark woods on his own but he couldn't. If anything he was proud of the blond boy. If John hadn't done that then the Hooper girl would have probably passed out and die without anyone even knowing. Thanks to John she was taken to the her father, who fortunately was the local doctor. Apparently she was more in shock than in fact hurt. Mycroft was currently outside the room she was being treated, he wanted to be there just in case she spoke something about what had attacked her. He looked to John who was talking to Sherlock at the end of the room, they seemed very entertained by each other. That should have made Mycroft happy. Despite their usual rivalry, Mycroft wanted nothing but happiness to his brothers. Sherlock had never had many friends, in fact the closest person to him was Demeter, so after she passed away Mycroft was worried Sherlock would break down. He wasn't counting on John Watson to suddenly fall into their lives, though.

The door opened and Dr. Hooper came out, looking tired but relieved. “Mr. Holmes.”

All the four Holmes men present on the room looked at the man. Mycroft stood up, his father who was talking to Mrs. Hooper walked closer, Sherrinford turned his body from the seat next to the fireplace and Sherlock stopped talking.

Dr. Hooper chuckled softly at the scene. “Molly is fine. She has some small bruises caused by the trees and rocks. But no sign of attack, human or bestial.”

“Human? Why do you say human?” Sherrinford asked.

“She's babbling something about a man with a scar, but she is not making sense. It is the shock speaking, I'm afraid. I think she just got lost and panicked.” The doctor said, running a hand through his brown hair.

“I think something more happened. She was truly desperate, sir. She didn't look like she was only lost, she looked more like she was running away from something or someone.” John said, voice assertive but respectful.

“My daughter is a sensitive girl, Mr. Watson, she was in the woods for so long she probably started hallucinating.”

“Why was she into the woods at first place? I know Molly, she wouldn't be stupid to go there by herself after everything that's happened.” Sherlock spoke, crossing his arms.

“I don't know, like I said: she was in shock, so she wasn't making much sense. She's sleeping now but when she wakes up you're free to ask her whatever you want. Just... Be gentle about it.” Dr. Hooper sighed. He knew the ways of the Holmes brothers, especially Sherlock's.

“Thank you, Gerard. We'll give your family privacy now. Good night.” Mycroft's father said, gesturing for all the men to follow him out.

Mycroft left the house with them but he wasn't paying much attention to what anyone was saying anymore. His mind was thinking back to what happened to Harriet Watson earlier and how it could relate with this. Two intelligent and sane girls just decided to have a walk into the forest for no reason and were found confused and in odd conditions. Did these cases have to do with the beast or was it something else? John seemed to think the same thing. Mycroft sighed. It didn't matter the direction his thoughts took they would always find the blond English in the way.

“Mycroft?”

“Yes?” He quickly answered, realising it was the voice in his head who was staring at him with those dark blue eyes. He was probably calling Mycroft for a while now, but he was too absorbed in his own mind palace.

“I'm just saying goodbye. Sherlock will accompany me to Mr Hudson's.” John said, a soft smile on his beautiful face.

Mycroft moved his eyes to his younger brother who was looking utterly pleased by that fact. It seemed like it didn't matter what he did, Sherlock would always beat him to it. Mycroft tried to tell himself this frustration he was feeling was for losing a game for Sherlock, but he knew the truth. The truth was he had lost already. And not for Sherlock.

**__ **

* * *

“Harry?” John asked while he knocked at the door. “May I come in?”

A few seconds passed before she answered. “Yes, of course!”

John smiled as soon as he entered and saw his sister looking much better, sitting at the table, reading a book. She was wearing yellow robes and her short hair was brushed back. John just let himself look at her for a moment, thanking whoever might listen that she was still alive and well. He walked towards the bed and sat down, feeling exhausted for the first time that day. It has been a tiring day. It seemed like problems followed him everywhere.

“How are you feeling?” John asked, taking his coat out.

“Fine.” She turned on her chair to look at him. “A little knackered, but I've been worse. You? Are you okay? What happened?” She frowned, suddenly realising his clothes were all dirty.

“Well... You won't like it.” He sighed. When she didn't say anything he continued. “A girl went missing, Molly Hooper. Mr. Holmes gathered some men to go looking for her, and I was one of them.”

“Oh John. You were into that forest again?” She shook her head. “Have you at least found the girl?”

“Yes. She's okay, just a tad bruised and a lot confused.”

“What happened?”

“We don't know yet. We'll try talking to her tomorrow. Her father thinks she was just lost, but I don't believe that. I think someone was chasing her.” John said, rolling his shoulders. He could use a bath.

“By the way you're speaking you don't think it was the beast?” She asked.

“It would be the obvious answer, but no. Her father said she mumble something about a man with a scar, but everybody dismissed because she was in shock.” John pursed his lips. There was something wrong there, he didn't think she was imagining things. It wasn't the first time John had seen women being treated like hysterical creatures, his sister had gone through that a lot when she tried to tell people about their father. They all thought she was exaggerating, that she was trying to seek attention, or that she was just mad. Their father was a very decent man in front of everyone, so why would they believe Harry instead of him? John had learned then, he was always going to listen to women.

When he realised his sister was quiet for too long he brushed his thoughts away and looked at her again, she was staring at the floor, a worrying expression on her face. He leaned forward and touched her knee. “Harry? What's wrong?”

She blinked a few times but still didn't look at him. “A man with a scar. A man with a scar.” Her voice was small and rushed. “He was tall, and had copper coloured hair too. Did she say that?”

John was confused for a moment, then shook his head. “No. Harry? You know him? You've seen him? Please tell me. What happened this morning? You weren't just 'exploring the area', were you?”

That took her attention. Their dark blue eyes met each other and just stayed there for a minute until she finally decided to speak. “I don't remember much. I think I must have hit my head or... I'm not sure. I didn't tell you at the Morstan's because my mind was still so blurred and there were too many people around... But I remember leaving the house to go buy something for breakfast. Mr. Hudson is a good cook but I miss black pudding.” She smiled a bit but then her eyes were serious again. “Then someone called me, I turned around to see and I can't remember much. But I have some images in my mind of a man, a tall copper haired man with a scar on his face. I don't know who he is or what he was doing or why I keep seeing him, but I know he had something to do with this. And if this girl also saw him then this is much bigger than I thought.”

Then it all came crashing down on John. Scenes he didn't want to remember. Scenes he tried to bury deep inside of his mind's basement. The day everything had changed in their lives. He closed his eyes and forced himself to focus.

“John? Are you feeling well?” His sister asked, concern on her voice.

He took a deep breath. “Do you remember... _Him_?” He slowly spoke.

She furrowed her brows, looking confused. “Him? Who are you talking about? Father?”

“No, no. _Him._ That day... He helped us.” John couldn't even speak the whole sentence, he hated to even talk about that. It was a part of his life he wish he could just erase it like one could erase a word spelled wrong. That would never be possible, though, the fact was marked under his skin.

It took some seconds for it to sink in, but when it did Harry's eyes widened. “Yes. I do. Why? What does he have to do with any of this?” He could see in her expression that she also couldn't handle this topic very well. Understandable.

“He... He had an assistant. Remember? He never talked, but he observed everything. I remember his eyes.” John felt the hair at the back of his neck standing up, a big shiver running through his spine. “Green. He had a scar that crossed his face, he had copper coloured hair and was tall. Just like you described.”

“I don't remember him. I mean, I know he was around when...” She cleared his throat and continued. “But I never paid him much attention. John, that doesn't make sense. Why would it be him? What would he be doing here? We don't owe them anything. And I'm sure neither does the Hooper girl.”

John nodded. Harry was right about half of those things. He couldn't tell her the rest, though. Not yet. He needed to be sure it was really him first. “Yes, I know. Maybe I'm wrong. I hope I'm wrong.”

Harry gave him her reassuring smile. “You are, Johnny. Don't worry. It's probably someone from the town being silly. They have nothing to do and got excited about this beast issues, so they decided to frighten some girls. You know how people can be.”

John returned her smile, but he still felt uneasy. He didn't think it was just someone being silly.

He didn't sleep well that night. Nightmares of wide grins and low voices filled his mind. The same sentence going round and round like a whipping-top.

“ _I'll take care of you, Johnny boy.”_


	15. Shades of Green

Sherlock rolled his eyes. He wished he could just ask the questions already, but Mycroft wanted to play worried leader and just kept asking stupid things like 'how are you feeling?' 'are you sure you're feeling well to receive us?' when it was obvious that the girl was all right. She was on the resting room's divan, pink dress touching the floor, long brown hair falling down the side of her neck in a braid. She looked fine despite the dark circles under her eyes. It was clear she was perfectly sane and completely calm, although she had those anxious manics that were naturally hers and couldn't be changed.

Sherlock was tired of hearing his brother's voice mumbling something useless, he was about to spit out some harsh comment when a hand came to softly touch his forearm. He turned his head to see John staring at him with an amused expression that was silently telling Sherlock to keep quiet. The blond removed his hand and brought it to rest next to his other on his lap. They were both seated very close to each other on the settee. Sherlock was not a fan of human touch or closeness but he was feeling very relaxed and comfortable with John by his side.

“My father sends his regards and apologises for not being able to come here.” Mycroft was still talking from his position on the armchair across from Sherlock and John. “Sherrinford is also occupied and couldn't participate.”

Sherlock rolled his eyes again. Sherrinford wasn't occupied, he just didn't want to come, and Sherlock was thankful, his middle brother wouldn't add anything to the conversation. And it also felt relieving not to have him around John throwing those ridiculous innuendos his way.

“It's all right, Mr. Holmes. To be honest I feel better having only a few people here. After what happened way too many people are coming here to visit me, I had never even spoken to most of them!” She chuckled. “They're only trying to find some intrigues, though, they don't really care about me.”

“I know how it feels. My sister and I went through that when our mother passed away. Not a single one of these 'worried people' came to help us when we needed it.” John said, his eyes seemed distant for barely half a second. “But know that you are amongst people who care.” He smiled at her.

She gave him a fond look and nodded. “Thank you. I don't think I'll ever be able to thank you enough for having rescued me.”

John shook his head. “You don't need to thank me. You were very brave yourself.”

Sherlock suddenly broke the pretty scene by clapping his hands loudly. “Great!” When he had all the three pair of eyes staring at him he continued. “Now, Molly, do you mind if we start? No, scratch that. I will start anyway.” Before she could say anything he started talking again. “Why were you in the woods? Who is this man with the scar? Did you see the beast? Why were you so afraid and why aren't you dead?” The last word was spoken with an emphasis on the final 'd'.

Molly looked taken aback for a moment, her cheeks blushed and she cleared her throat. “I didn't mean to go into the forest. Why would I? I lost my best friend for this beast, I'm not entering there ever again.” She took a deep a breath. “I was going to the Morrison's greenhouse, they have some herbs there that I use. Before I could get there, though, I heard someone calling me, I turned around and everything went black.” She closed her eyes for a moment as if it was painful to remember. “When I woke up again I was into the forest, I know that, and there was a tall man with a scar on his face, he was holding a firearm I've never seen before. I can't remember much more, my mind was swirling and my vision wasn't clear. I only know that I grabbed a branch out of the ground and hit his face with it, that gave me time to run. I heard a shot being fired but obviously it didn't hit me. It was odd, though... He could've chased me. I was weak, barely on my feet. It would have been easy for him to catch me. It's like he chose not to.”

“No sign of the beast then?” Mycroft asked.

“No. At least not that I have noticed.” She said, shaking her head.

“This man... Can you remember the colour of his hair? Could you recognise him if you saw him again?” John asked, voice a bit strained.

“Hum... Maybe. I couldn't really take a good look at him, but I think he had light hair, not blonde, though, more like copper.” She bit her lips, trying to remember. “I can only remember the scar because it was very ugly and big.” She crinkled her nose at the thought.

It was almost imperceptible but Sherlock could swear he saw John shivering for a second. That was curious, but he would deal with that later, he had something else he needed to do. He stood up and walked towards Molly. He noticed her cheeks only got even more red at his approach. It was clear she was infatuated with him, so he decided to use that on his favour. He reached a hand to touch her shoulder. “Molly, do you mind if I take a look at your nape?”

“Wh-What?” She stuttered, face impossibly coral.

“Sherlock...” Mycroft warned.

“It's important. Please, Molly.” He insisted, trying to soften his eyes and voice.

“Ehm... Why? O-Okay.” She leaned her head forward and pushed her braid aside.

Sherlock moved so he could see it better. He gently touched the spot with his cold hands, trying not to frighten her. Just like he thought, there was a tiny barely noticeable red dot there. If you weren't looking for it you would have never found it. He stepped back and sat down on the settee next to John again. “Thank you”, he murmured more to himself.

“You're welcome...” Molly said, confused.

“So what was that about? Mind telling us, little brother?” Mycroft urged him, arching an eyebrow.

“Molly was drugged.” He simply said.

The girl opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by doors being roughly pushed and some screaming following right behind.

 

**__ **

* * *

 

Sherrinford's feet hurt. He wasn't used to physical exercises, in fact he hated it. But he had no other choice but to run. “ _Why do these things keep happening? This town is curse_ _d_ _!”_ , he thought to himself. He should have moved to France when he had the chance. He would have been drinking champagne and eating caviare instead of being sweaty, dirty and tired from running all the way from Ingrid's house to his own house. Well, that was partly his fault too for not having brought his horse.

“Mother! Father! Brothers!” He called as soon as he arrived at the entry gate. “Where are you?!”

Nobody answered as he opened the door to the house. He didn't even hang on his coat, just kept running upstairs. Someone _needed_ to be at home. “Mother?” He called again, a little less urgent. He was opening every door, making a hell of a noise.

“Sherrinford? What's wrong, darling? Why all the fuss?” His mother came out of the reading room.

“Mother! Thank goodness.” He put his hands on her shoulders and took a moment to breathe. “The beast attacked again!”

“Oh no! My God! Who was the victim this time?” She put her hands on her chest, her eyes glistening with unshed tears.

“Ingrid Belford's brother. Luke. He was found just some minutes ago. Completely gutted!”

“Oh Sherrin, don't need to tell me the gory details, please. God bless his poor soul. Poor Belfords.” Her mother closed her eyes and grimaced in pain.

“But that's not all, mum. There was someone else. Another Belford, Liz.”

“Dear lord! They lost two children at once!”

“No, that's the thing! She is still alive. She survived!” Sherrinford exclaimed, a hint of a smile on his face. “She managed to run away with only a few scratches. The Belfords took her to Doctor Hooper. I need to tell father, we need to talk to her!”

“I don't think that's wise, Sherrinford. She just suffered a great trauma, and...”

“Mother! Apart from John Watson, she was the only one who met the beast and lived to tell. She might give us some clues. We need to go to the Hoopers now before the place is crowed with curious townsfolk. Where is father and Mycroft?”

“Your father is supervising the church's reformation, and your brothers... Oh, they are there! They are at the Hoopers!” His mother remembered.

“How did they... Oh they were interviewing Molly, right? Damn, how am I always a step behind even when I'm a step forward?” Sherrinford ran his sweaty hands through his hair. “That's not the only reason I came running, though.”

“What? There's more? Oh dear.” Mrs. Holmes sighed heavily and touched her forehead in advanced sorrow.

“No. I mean, yes. But not about the beast. Or maybe it is. I don't know!” He shouted, regretting the action the moment he did it. “I'm sorry. I'm just nervous, that's all. Anyway, Mycroft sent some letters a while ago to the other villages to see if they were having problems like ours. And since Ingrid is the one responsible to receive Beddgelert's correspondence she gave it right to me, that's why I was at her house at first place. Okay, not at first place... We were actually doing something else but then she remembered...”

“Yes, okay, son, I understood.” His mother cut him off, certainly not surprised at hearing about Sherrinford's conquests. “Have you read them yet?”

“Yes, of course, that's why I came running, remember?!” He took a deep breath. “Sorry again, mum. I didn't mean to be rude. But yes, I read them a few minutes before we heard the news about Ingrid's siblings. A morbid coincidence, really.” He shook his head. “We had five replies. Two villages didn't relate anything unusual, but Aberffraw, Pentraeth and Moelfre wrote alarming things! We will need to warn the entire town, mother. It's worse than we thought. A calamity!”

“You're scaring me, Sherrin! What did they write?”

"Aberffraw had three girls missing. Pentraeth had four and Moelfre two. Not only that, these girls had all disappeared and reappeared completely confused next to their forests days before they suddenly died.” He closed his eyes for a moment. “They died in their sleep, mother! Without any good explanation! You know what that means? Harriet Watson and Molly Hooper are in danger, just like any other girl in this village.”

 


	16. Points of Contact

“I'll have to ask you to leave, please!” Dr. Hooper exclaimed to the boys. “Molly, can you please take my medical supplies, darling?” She nodded and left.

John's heart sank at the sight of the poor girl. Not because of the claw marks on her skin, but because of the tears in her eyes and the trembling of her body. She had just witnessed her older brother die in a brutal way right in front of her. John couldn't even begin to imagine how that must have felt like. He thought of Harry instantly, and that made him feel nauseous. He couldn't let anything happen to her. He couldn't let anything happen to any other innocent person in this village. He just wished he knew how to stop the killings. The beast attacks seemed to have no kind of relation to the scarred man attacks. And none of them made sense at all.

“Liz. It's Liz, right? How did the beast that attacked you look like?” Sherlock was asking the girl while her father and Dr. Hooper put her down on the bed.

“Sherlock! This is no time for questions!” Mycroft was trying to pull him by the arm. “I am tremendously sorry for your lost, Mr. Belford. I hope Miss Belford recovers soon. Forgive my brother's imprudence.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes, I...” Belford started to talk but Sherlock managed to get rid of Mycroft's grip and ran away to kneel beside the girl. John took some steps forward to hear better.

“Look, Liz, I know you are pretty traumatized right now, but it's important that you answer me so other people won't have Luke's fate. Okay?” Sherlock spoke, and John was surprised at how gentle his voice sounded.

“Sherlock!” This time it was Molly's father who shouted his name. “Leave the girl alone!”

“No...” Whispered Liz, surprising everyone. “Let him ask.” She sniffled and cleaned her tears with shaky hands.

“You don't have to, sweetheart.” Her father said, coming to seat on the other side of the bed.

“I-It's okay. I do-don't want anyone to go through t-this... So I-if I can help somehow... Please ask.” She said, and John noticed for the first time that she was really young, probably not even sixteen.

“Thank you, Liz. That's very noble of you.” Sherlock tried to give her a smile that seemed forced but apparently made her feel slightly more relaxed. “So, where were you when that happened? Close to the forest?”

She shook her head, shaggy blonde hair falling on her forehead. “No. We were close to home, just coming back from fetching water from the well. The-The monster came from behind the old mill and L-Luke told me to run... I didn't. He didn't have time to do anything, the monster just... Just attacked him...” New tears started to come down her face, but she continued anyway. “I threw some stones at it, I even threw the water... Silly I know, but I was desperate... It didn't work but it made the monster came running after me, it bruised me on the arms and stomach but I kicked it in the face and hit it with the bucket, then I just ran away without looking back until someone found me.”

“You were very brave, Liz.” John said, meaning it.

“True.” Sherlock hummed. “The old mill on the fourth street, the one nobody uses anymore?”

“E-excuse me?” She frowned in confusion.

“You said the beast came out from the old mill. Is it the abandoned one?” Sherlock calmly asked again, and John knew it was probably taking lots of self-control from him not to snap at her for making him repeating himself.

“Oh yes. I mean, I don't know if it came out from there, but when we turned to look at it seemed so.” She nodded.

“That is the first time the creature attacks so far from the forest. Next thing we know it's going to be attacking us inside our houses!” Mr. Belford rued.

“Not if we can stop it first, Mr. Belford.” Mycroft said very surely, but John could practically feel doubt after doubt pouring off of him. He felt that old urge to hug the man.

“What can you do?! You haven't been able to stop it now, why would you ever? There's nothing men can do against the devil's aberrations!” The distraught man cried.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “That has nothing to do with the devil, Mr. Belford. It's a man's creation therefore it's a man's responsibility to bring it down.”

“It had milky eyes, strange fur, like thorns... That couldn't have been created by any man.” Liz said, her eyes far away as if reliving the scene. “It's demoniac.”

John couldn't blame her for thinking that way. He had a different vision about the beast but after everything the poor girl had gone through it was normal she thought it was some kind of satan's work. John never believe in the devil or any of his derivatives, so it was clear to John that Sherlock was right even though he couldn't quite explain it.

“Now, would you mind leaving us? I need to treat Miss Belford's wounds.” Dr. Hooper sighed. “Please.”

“Of course.” Mycroft said, nodding at the two men and waving at Liz. “I promise your brother's death won't be in vain.”

 

When they were outside the house, Mycroft turned to Sherlock and John with a heavy look on his face. “We need to call someone. Someone professional.”

Sherlock gasped. “You mean the police? We tried having them in Beddgelert once and that didn't work out, remember? They're useless, Mycroft! No, don't call anyone from outside. This is our problem, and I will take care of it.”

Mycroft rolled his eyes. “Yes, it didn't work out because you scared them away! And because there was never a real problem around here. But this is big, Sherlock, you are practically a child, you couldn't possibly solve this on your own!”

“A child?! Mycroft, I am more capable than any police force in Wales! I'm brighter than them, I'm better than them! And I have John!”

John blinked, not expecting that. “What?”

“John is not as smart as me, of course, but he is a fantastic conductor of light. The two of us are a great duo, in case you haven't noticed. In fact, we're going to the old mill right now. Come on, John.” Sherlock turned around and started mounting on his horse without another word.

“Sherlock! What?!” John tried to catch his attention but the boy was already riding away. He sighed deeply. Sherlock loved the dramatic departures. “Sorry, Mycroft. I need to go!”

“John! You don't have to do everything he says, you know that, right?” The older Holmes said, touching his arm.

John was surprised by the touch. He covered the ginger's man hand with his own. “I know, but I want to.” The blond couldn't help but smiling. “I need it.” He squeezed Mycroft's hand and went away after his maniac friend.

 

**__ **

* * *

 

Mycroft watched John go with a heavy heart. He hated feeling that way. His mother always told him he was not half as cold as he thought he was, but he always brushed it off. Now, though, he understood what she was talking about. He loved his family, but this was a different kind of love he didn't appreciate at all. It even scared him to catch himself sometimes just casually thinking about _love._ Thankfully his inconvenient thoughts were interrupted by a rough looking Sherrinford, clumsy dismounting his white horse.

“Did something happen, brother?” Mycroft asked.

“Besides the new attacks, but that you already know...” Sherrinford breathed gesturing to Dr. Hooper's house. “I'm too late, am I not? Has Sherlock bothered the poor girl yet? Where is he?”

“Yes. He and John decided to go to the old mill.”

“The old mill? Why?”

“That's where Liz Belford said she saw the creature coming out of. He thinks he might find a clue there.” Mycroft sensed that wasn't all Sherrinford wanted to talk about. “Something else happened.”

“Well, yes. Remember the letters you sent the other villages? I received their replies.” Sherrinford turned to pick the papers from the bag tied around his horse. “Here they are. It's a sinister thing, Mycroft. We need to warn everyone.”

Mycroft took the letters and quickly read them. He was a fast reader and fast learner just like Sherlock and their mother. It was an ability very in hand that moment since Sherrinford was impatiently waiting. As soon as he finished it he closed his eyes for a moment. Those were terrible news. “I didn't want to scare the entire village, I wanted them to know we've got it under control but that couldn't be further away from the truth.” Mycroft looked down, folding the papers. “Sherlock said Molly Hooper was drugged. The same thing probably happened to these girls, but nobody found out. That means we have a better chance.”

“Drugged? What do you mean?”

“Someone injected a sedative or something like that into her.”

“Injected?! A sedative? The only sedative I know is whiskey.” Sherrinford gave a bitter laugh.

“Yes, Sherrinford. Injected it with a hypodermic needle. Not whiskey, though. That'd be stupid. Something else. Sherlock didn't have time to speak more about it because, well, poor Liz Belford arrived all bruised and desperate.” Mycroft raised his eyes to the sky. It was going to rain.

“Hyp-Hyp-what? Okay, Mycroft. I don't care about technicalities as long as we can use them in our favour or to help others. What can we do about that?” His younger brother muttered.

“We should collect Molly's and Harriet's blood.”

“Excuse me?!”

“To analyse. Although it's not likely that Harriet's has any trace of the drug yet. Besides, Sherlock has some equipments but not the ones needed to do a blood analysis.”

“I didn't even know one could do that!” Sherrinford exclaimed. “Mycroft, whatever it is, we must do it fast.”

Mycroft covered his eyes with his palm. “These things related by the villages happened weeks ago. It's not happening simultaneously. It's obviously not some kind of mental illness. They didn't mention any beasts either. It's been days since anything bad happened there. You know what that means, brother? Molly was not hallucinating. It's someone, it's a man. He is visiting each village, killing girls and moving on to the next. But why would he do that? All the work to drug them, make them appear again only to have them killed days later. It doesn't make sense.”

“It's someone from a big city then. Someone who has access to needles and all these other things you and Sherlock love. Not even Dr. Hooper has these kind of material here. Which means it's someone strange who is infiltrated in the village. We just haven't realised it yet.” Sherrinford pursed his lips in thought.

“The only new residents are John and Harriet, and we know they have nothing to do with it.” Mycroft sighed again, he's been doing that a lot lately. “It's a man with a scar, possibly copper haired. He could be living in the outskirts of the village or even inside the forest. We need to look for him.”

“More searches? Every time we enter that forest something bad happens, Mycroft! We need to put Molly and Harriet under observation. And we need to establish a curfew.”

Mycroft was pleasantly surprised by how mature his younger brother was being. He was more in control of his thoughts than Mycroft himself and than in itself was a shocking fact. “You're right. We'll tell father and arrange a meeting with everyone. If we can't stop whoever is doing that yet than at least we can protect our neighbours.”

Sherrinford nodded and was ready to go away again when they heard someone galloping closer. Mary Morstan came riding her beige and brown horse with both thighs, unusual for a lady but she didn't look like she was worried about that, she did look worried about something else, though. Mycroft ran his eyes through her clothing trying to see any sign of blood or dirt that indicated another attack, but he found nothing on her purple dress. Mary didn't even dismount the horse when she just said, “Mr. Holmes and Mr. Holmes, I heard you were here! Please, come with me. It's important.”

“Oh please don't tell us someone else is dead! We've had our share amount of deaths for a day.” Sherrinford exhaled.

Mary shook her head. “No, but it'll definitely interest you.”

Mycroft nodded and climbed on his horse. “Fine. Please show us the way.”

 


	17. The Sensible Thunder

Sherlock used to play in the watermill with Demeter when he was younger. They liked to bother Old Stevens, the grumpy man who took care of the mill. The cousins had no sense of property and thought the poor man's unhappiness was rather funny, especially when they threw stones at the mill and moved some of the mechanisms. They stopped going there after he died, though. Part because the place felt too morbid even for them and part because it wasn't fun to have no one to bother anymore. Going back there brought a great knot to Sherlock's throat. He could almost see Demeter leading the way, her long and curly dark hair being messed by the wind behind her. She always had a smile on her face back in that time, the same was true for Sherlock. He used to feel peace around her. Comfort. The same thing he now felt with John, but at the same time it was also completely different. New. Stronger.

“You like this place, don't you?” John asked fondly when they jump off their horses and started walking towards the old mill. “Good memories?”

Sherlock nodded, crossing his arms on his chest. The wind was very strong and the curled haired boy could already smell the rain that was certainly going to fall down soon. “I used to come here with Demeter. It looks different now, though. Lifeless.”

“Pity, it's such a beautiful place.” John's voice was a little sad. That was one of the things he liked most about John Watson. He always cared so much, even about things and people he didn't know. He was a healer of the heart and soul.

Sherlock's thoughts were interrupted, though, when he notice something red on the floor among the grass.

“Oh look...” Sherlock pointed. “Blood. The siblings were attacked right here. They must have taken Luke's body a while ago.”

John knelt down to take a better look. “Poor lad. Do you think someone else will try to investigate the mill as well?”

“Don't be silly, John. People around here don't even know the meaning of the word 'investigate'.” Sherlock snorted.

Liz Belford was telling the truth. Everything she said to Sherlock was pretty clear just by looking at the crime scene. And everything indicated that the beast had really came out from the watermill. Sherlock was so absorbed following the traces that when he raised his head he was surprised to be facing the old wooden door. He turned around and realised John was still kneeling on the same spot he was a few moments ago. “John! Come here! What are you still doing there? I've already seen it all. Come on, we need to get in!”

He noticed John picking something from the floor and putting it in his pocket. The blond stood up and walked towards Sherlock, who had a hand on the rusted doorknob. When John finally was finally close enough he asked, “What's in your pocket?”

“What? Oh, nothing... Just a stone.” John shrugged.

“A stone? Why would you take a stone?”

“I think it's a beautiful one.”

“Do you have a collection?”

“No.”

“So why--”

“I just liked it, Sherlock. Goddamn it, why do you care?!” John snapped, hands in the air.

Sherlock was surprised by this outburst but kept a neutral face. “I don't, I was just wondering. Anyway, I am pretty certain that this is the real cove. This is where the beast is hiding, so please keep your weapon in hand.”

“Weapon? I have no weapon! You didn't tell me we would need any!” John complained, running a hand through his already slightly tousled blond hair.

“Don't act cute with me, John. I know you have a dagger tied to your belt under your coat. I don't know how you got that but I really don't care as long as you don't miss the beast or... Person.”

John sighed and pulled the dagger out. “It's a family thing. And don't worry, I won't miss it. I won't kill it, though.”

“Never said you would.” Sherlock grinned at him and turned around to open the door.

As soon as the door was opened both Sherlock and John coughed. The air from the inside was a heavy blend of mould and rottenness. Sherlock carefully stepped forward and the wood crinkled. That place was so old it seemed like it would fall down any moment. He looked up and remembered how Demeter liked to swing across the wooden beams. He blinked a couple of times to take that image away and focus on his goal. He looked around and apparently the place was the same as before, empty except for the gears that used to make the mill work.

“There's no one here, Sherlock.” John stated the obvious. “Maybe you're wrong.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes. “I'm rarely wrong, John. Someone comes here regularly. Hmm... Look, there is no dust, no cobwebs.” Sherlock walked to the window and tried to open it but it was stuck. He stared outside. “This is a perfect place to hide, it's a little away from the main streets but it's not away enough to lift any suspicions...”

“Sherlock...”

“This place wasn't chosen by accident. It certainly wasn't chosen by an irrational creature, which leads me to think...”

“Sherlock.”

“... that whoever is hiding here knew very well about the mill's location and its conveniences. And that means the beast is a local resident. Of course we already suspected that, but now I am absolutely sure. Oh, this is...”

“Sherlock!”

“What, John?! For goodness' sake, have you...” Sherlock rolled his eyes and turned around irritatedly to tell John to shut up when he was greeted to the sight of John sitting down on the floor, legs open and elbows resting on his knees, his coat was off, serving as a barrier between the umid wood and John's backside. It was a nice view indeed, John looked very... Manly. Not that he wasn't manly before, but then he looked especially charming. He lost his words for a moment.

“Sherlock... I've been trying to tell you. Look. Here!” John gestured to the place beside him.

Sherlock closed his mouth, cleared his throat and squared his shoulders. He headed to where John was pointing at and couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. “What the...” He gasped.

“Yes. I was surprised when you simply passed by it, then I realised you just didn't see it. The great Sherlock Holmes, Mr. Know It All, The One Who Is Rarely Wrong didn't notice such an obvious thing! It took one John Fool Watson to show it to you!” The blond threw his head back, having a good laugh at Sherlock's expenses.

Sherlock would have found that endearing and beautiful any other time, but on that moment it just made him pout. “Yes, John. Hilarious. Now are you done acting like a child?”

“Maybe. For now.” He still had a grin on that lovely face of his. Sherlock hated how that expression made his heart beat faster and the butterflies in his stomach fly anxiously. “Anyway, what do you think?”

Sherlock knelt near the things he hadn't seen before: a green duvet, two candles, a bowl and a pitcher. He grabbed the duvet and sniffed it. A flowery odour filled his nose. He had smelled something similar before. “John, have you smelled this before? Try.”

John grimaced for a moment at the thought of putting his nose anywhere near a strange duvet, but Sherlock practically shoved it in his face. After a little seconds smelling the cloth, he put it down. “Yes. Actually... This is lily-of-the-valley. Harry has a perfume made of this flower.”

Sherlock frowned. He wasn't expecting that, but it made sense from where he recognised it from. What did that mean? Was the answer right in front of him but he didn't want to see?

“Sherlock... You don't think that... Please, tell me you don't!” John exclaimed, grasping his shoulder.

“I...”

A lightening resonated through the entire mill. It had finally started to rain. Sherlock was thankful it had interrupted him because he honestly didn't know what to tell John. “We need to leave”, he chose the easy way out of that argument.

John stood up and without a word just opened the door which he immediately closed back. “Jesus! We can't. It's raining like hell out there! We have no cloaks.”

“Are you afraid of the rain, John?” Sherlock teased.

“No, but I pity the horses! They're fine where we left them, but they certainly wouldn't be happy galloping in this rain. Besides, we wouldn't really be able to see the way.”

“I know the way by heart. But okay, I think you're right as much as it pains to admit it.” He tried to lighten the mood but John would have none of that. The blond just crossed his arms and sat down where he was before, staring at the ground, a severe expression on his usually tranquil face.

Sherlock decided to sit across from him, knees pulled up to his chest. He found out he really disliked the feeling of John being angry at him. He wanted John to look at him with admiration and wonder instead of bitterness and annoyance. They were alone, he had John all to himself, but the context was all wrong. He sighed. He understood why John was upset but how could John blame him for thinking that after what they have found? Sherlock liked Harriet Watson. He didn't really know her well and he was pretty sure he wasn't a big fan of his – she thought he was a bad influence on her little brother. And that was exactly why Sherlock liked her. She loved John more than anything, she would do everything for him, she always put his safety first and that was something Sherlock could relate.

“It's not her. It's not, Sherlock.” John whispered, his eyes were closed. “I know my sister. There is nothing wrong with her. Besides, surely she can't be the only one to wear perfume.”

Sherlock wanted to be quiet but he couldn't. “Women here don't have this habit. Only very few of them. You and Harry are from London, there perfume is a common thing, here it isn't. Especially not one made of lily-of-the-valley.”

John shook his head. “That night I went to the forest by myself... I saw the beast, it came really close to me, it didn't attack me, but... It couldn't be Harry because she arrived there a few moments later. They were screaming my name and the beast was still there. It can't be her, Sherlock.”

“Maybe she's not alone. We know there was another one before, we don't know how many more there are right now. Think, John. I know it's hard, but...”

“Stop it, Sherlock. It doesn't make sense! She was attacked by that man, remember? If she was really the beast she would have killed him, right? And I live with her, I don't remember her leaving the house at night or at any other time and going to suspicious places!”

“Of course you don't, John, because you're either out with me or sleeping. Those are the times she probably...”

“No!”

“Besides, what if this man attacked her exactly because she is the b--”

“Shut up, Sherlock! Are you mental? Molly Hooper was attacked as well, are you suggesting she might be one of the beasts- if there is a second anyway!”

“Maybe. I don't know and I hate not knowing!”

“And how would this man know she's the beast?” John sighed irritatedly.

“I really have no idea, John... I...” Sherlock looked right into John's eyes and moved closer. “The only thing I know is that I don't want anything to happen to you, and it seems like you're always in the middle of the mess.”

“What, now you're suggesting I'm the beast?” John scoffed.

“No, of course not! But I think it's someone close to you and I don't want you to get hurt. That's all. I-I truly care about you.” Sherlock's voice was small, sad; he wasn't used to talk about sensitive topics. He usually left his feeling locked up inside a lead chest, but apparently John had the key to open it and spread all the contents around.

John's expression softened. He reached a hand and brushed Sherlock's curls away from his forehead. It was an unexpected but very welcome action. “I'm sorry, Sherlock. I know I'm not helping, it's just that... You don't know what Harry and I have been through. She means the world to me. I wouldn't be here if it wasn't for her. And although I know she is not the beast, I want you to know that if we found out that she is... I will stay by your side. I won't leave her, I won't let anyone hurt her, but I will not forsaken you. We are in this together, yes? I also don't want you to get hurt. You're... You're brilliant.” John breathed.

Sherlock shifted his body so he was just a few inches away from John. “Sorry, John. I'm sorry this is all happening. You deserve so much better. It's unfair how life has been treating you.”

John leaned forward so their foreheads could touch. “Sherlock... You have no idea how you changed my life. Don't apologise for anything. It's me, I draw problems to myself and everyone around me, since I was a little boy.”

Sherlock couldn't help but touching his fingertips to John's cheek. “Never say that, John. You... You saved me, John Watson. You are so important, so essential. You're like air.”

John smiled and that was such a pure and perfect smile – so “Johnish” - that Sherlock _had_ to put his lips on the blond's. There was a great startling lightening and for a moment everything around them was purple. Sherlock barely noticed that, though. The feeling of John's mouth on his was much more important than anything else in the world.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's more or less how I imagine the old mill: https://i.imgsafe.org/d14935ed47.jpg


	18. What The Storm Brings

Mary was exceptionally good at riding a horse. She was much better than Mycroft and Sherrinford or any other men they had known. The way she nimbly dismounted the horse made them feel ashamed for their clumsy ways. She truly was different than most village girls, she had an aristocratic flair that showed in the way she acted, dressed and garnished herself. The cosmetics she wore on her face looked like something coming from France. He supposed she was unusual because she had lived abroad for some time with her grandparents when she was younger. All that explained why John fancied her and why she fancied John. They would be the perfect couple in everybody's eyes. Mycroft could imagine the two of them being happy together far away from Beddgelert, in London or Cardiff maybe. The image of the two of them walking around hand in hand made Mycroft cringe inside.

When the brothers were out of the animal they exchanged an embarrassed look that she thankfully didn't notice since she was already heading towards her house.

It was a good thing they had all entered the place, only a few moments later it started to rain quite heavily.

“Oh thank goodness. Rain! I love rain!” Mary exclaimed, going to the window to see the water fall. “The air was so thick, I was feeling smothered!”

Mycroft cleared his throat. He didn't like to be at other people's houses, especially not the one whose owner would steal John away – _steal away, what a pedestrian thing to think_ \- and he had a thousand things to do, so he just wished she would go straight to the point.

“Oh forgive me.” The blonde girl turned at them again. “Would you like some tea? We also have biscuits.”

“No, thanks. We are fine.” Mycroft answered for the both of them before Sherrinford decided to accept and waste more of their time. “So, Miss Morstan, why did you call us here?”

“Well, many odd things have been happening lately... But I don't have to tell you that, your family already knows it way too well.” She clasped her hands together on the front of her dress. “Living next to the forest has been a great nightmare for my family these past weeks. As you know we found Harriet Watson completely passed out only a while ago, and I heard John”, she paused for a moment, smiling at the thought of him, “saved Miss Hooper from the darkness of the woods. This is all extremely worrying.”

“Indeed it is, and we apologise for not having solved the problem yet, Miss. Morstan. But we are going to take more strict actions as of today.” Mycroft calmly said. He didn't mind taking all the blame, he was the oldest son of the leader family in the village, so he did feel it was partly his responsibility that people were dying.

“It's okay, Mr. Holmes. I mean... It's not okay, but I understand. You can't blame yourself for everything. Some things are just out of our control and there is nothing we can do about it.” Mary sighed.

“How is your mother and father, Mary?” Sherrinford asked to probably change the topic to give them all a little break.

“Oh they are well, thanks for asking. My father is with yours right now, I suppose. Helping with the church's reformation. My brother is probably with his fiancé and my mother is at a tea party. A tea party! With everything that is going on these ladies still won't cancel their tea parties!” Mary laughed but the sound was bitter. “I spend so many hours on my own that I developed the habit to walk around, collect some flowers, unusual stones, mud samples and dead bugs. I know it sounds unusual, but...”

“We grew up with Sherlock Holmes, therefore this is not unusual at all for us. Rest assured, no judgements from here.” Sherrinford smiled.

Mary smiled back. “Thank you. My mother and father don't approve it so I have no choice but to hide them in the gazebo behind our house. Nobody ever goes there so they wouldn't find. I just really love to learn and analyse, things too complicated for simple people like my provincial parents. Sherlock is lucky he has people who understand him.” Mary waved her hand. “Anyway, I told you all that so you would understand the reason I was alone at the gazebo earlier today. That was where I found him.”

Finally something that peaked Mycroft's curiosity. “Found whom?”

“I don't know his name. He was sitting at the gazebo's stairs, shaking and muttering things to himself. I didn't want to bring a strange man inside my house, so I let him stay there. I took him bread, milk, and a blanket. He was very scared! Kept mumbling something about a man with a scar and how he was going to hurt him.”

Mycroft couldn't believe it. The bloody man with the bloody scar again. That was the confirmation that this person was the responsible for the death of the girls from the other village, besides Molly and Harriet's abductions. And now he started doing it with men too. Nobody was safe.

“Have you seen him before around Beddgelert?” Sherrinford asked.

“No. I don't think he's from here. He most likely came from the forest.”

“Is he still on the gazebo?” Mycroft questioned.

“Yes. May I take you there? He might be able to help you figure this out, right? If he can remember? You are more aware of the details, you would know what to ask.” She arched her eyebrows.

“Yes, please take us there. Is it too far? We didn't bring our cloaks.”

“Don't worry, we have spare ones! Come on!”

 

The gazebo was a bit distant from the house but thankfully it wasn't distant enough for the rain to soak them under the heavy cloak Mary lent them. The blonde opened the door of the small building so they could enter. As soon as Mycroft was inside he noticed the sleepy form curled up underneath the blue blanket Mary had given him.

Both Mycroft and Sherrinford removed the cloak and put on the small table near the corner. After Mary did the same she knelt down next to the unmoving form and gently shook his shoulders. “Wake up... I brought some people who will be able to help you.”

The man carefully lowered the cloth so only his eyes were showing. Big, brown and full of fear. “It's okay. We are here to talk. No one will harm you.” Mycroft promised.

It took a few more moments before the stranger finally decided to stand up. He was smaller than Mycroft and Sherrinford, had short dark hair and he seemed to be on his twenties. He looked very fragile and thin, the pale skin and dark circles beneath his eyes gave him a ghostly semblance. Mycroft was sure this man wasn't a Beddgelert resident.

“My name is Mycroft Holmes, this is my brother Sherrinford. Can you tell us your name and where are you from?” He asked, trying to keep a low tone.

“Troy Mair. I'm from Llanor. I am a woodworker, sir.”

“Can you tell us what happened, Mr. Mair?” Mycroft prompted.

“I was in the forest when he took me. I woke up, he was there... Just staring at me. I didn't know where to go but I started to run, I just needed to be away from him. I ran for days maybe, I'm not sure. Then I saw this place and thought it'd be safe. Miss Morstan found me, thankfully.” He looked at Mary and bowed his head. His voice was still a little shaky and his body posture was concave as if he was trying to keep himself safe, arms crossed on his own chest.

“Mr. Mair, you told Mary the man you saw had a scar?” Sherrinford asked.

“Yes... An ugly one, right across his face.”

“Do you remember his face well?”

“Some of it. My head was hurting and my vision was failing me. I remember his hair was short and coppery. Couldn't see his eyes very well. Oh and he was tall too.” He nodded as if proud for having remembered.

“Thank you, Mr. Mair. You were very helpful.” Mycroft said.

“Do you think you could find a place for him to stay? I certainly can't have a man living in my gazebo!” Mary asked, chuckling.

“Yes, of course. You can stay at Mrs. Hudson's inn, Mr. Mair. But before we go, would you mind if I take a look at your nape?” Mycroft knew how awkward that sounded – it was shocking the first time Sherlock had asked Molly Hooper – but he needed to see to inspect the pattern.

“Why?” Troy frowned.

“It is possible that you might have been injected with a drug through the base of your neck. A girl from here had the same experience you just described and she had a small mark, I want to see if it's the same case with you.”

Troy looked confused, he probably had never heard the word 'drug' or 'injected' before but with a resigned sigh he nodded his permission. Mycroft lowered the man's head with his right hand and with his left he took his collar out of the way. As predicted: a small red dot was staring back at him. He stepped away and picked up the cloak. “You have been drugged, Mr. Mair. I'm afraid you'll have to be under observation.” He turned to Sherrinford. “Brother, I'll take Mr. Mair to Mrs. Hudson. Please, fetch Madeleine for me. She will be responsible to look for Harriet and Mair at Hudson's. Then go to the Hooper's and let the doctor know about his daughter's situation.”

“Fine. Will you have a word with father?” Sherrinford asked as he dressed his cloak back.

“Yes, right after I leave Mr. Mair at the inn. We will have to summon a meeting with the entire village.”

“Oh dear, we have come to that, haven't we? I will let my parents know.” Mary said with a tired expression, touching her forehead.

“Thank you, Mary. You did very well today. Take care of yourself, will you?” Sherrinford gave two quick palms on her shoulder.

“Always do.”

**__ **

* * *

“John?”

Sherlock and John were side by side, the blond's head on the brunet's shoulder, their hands entwined. They were sharing a comfortable silence, the only sound being the rain falling and the occasional lightening and thunders. Sherlock wasn't very fond of sleeping but he felt so at easy and relaxed that he thought he might. He wouldn't, though, because he wanted to spend every second awaken with John.

“Yes?”

“Can you tell me what happened? Why exactly did you and Harry moved here?” He knew he was pushing his luck, but now that the two of them had began a new stage of their relationship he wanted to know as much as he could about John, the boy was still a mystery that not even his deductions could unveil.

John was quiet for a moment, his thumb gently caressing Sherlock's. “We had some problems with our father... After my mother passed away he started to drink. He became very violent.” John took a deep breath and Sherlock's heart beat faster. “He hated us, but mostly he hated himself. He used to hit us with his belt, sometimes with a stick, other times she liked to feel his hand on our skin. This happened for eight years until we finally reached our limits.”

“John...” Sherlock closed his eyes. Just the thought of someone harming John was enough to make his blood boil and his vision red. He wanted to kiss each and every scar of the blond's body. “I am so truly sorry. What happened then?”

“Harry... We found a way to escape. We rent a carriage with the money we had left and arrived here. We knew Mrs. Hudson would help us.” John finished.

Sherlock knew John was lying. Not only because of the tone of his voice and the hesitance, but also because no way two broke young people would be able to pay a carriage to take them from London to Beddgelert. It was a long trip, therefore an expensive one. He also knew that if they had just escaped their father would have tried to contact them eventually. No. Something else happened and Sherlock was almost sure of what. _Dark times demand dark measures_. He wasn't going to push John like that yet, he needed to respect John's time. When he felt like telling Sherlock the whole truth then Sherlock would gladly listen.

The rain was almost over, so they could hear the environment around them. The sound of the river, the wind hitting the trees, the wood crackling. It was getting colder too, but Sherlock didn't mind because he was there with John, touching him, feeling his warmth.

They were taken by surprised, though, when they heard an unusual noise coming from the outside of the mill. It sounded like footsteps, too heavy to be an animal's but too light to be the beast's.

They immediately stood up. It was dark and they hadn't lighten up the candles so Sherlock couldn't be sure if the person outside knew they were inside. It was their chance to know who was living there. Without saying a word, Sherlock gestured John to hide behind the wheels next to the window. It was big enough that could cover both of them and it was right across the door, far from the duvet on the floor.

A minute later the door opened. Sherlock felt John hold his breath. He heard the footsteps inside, pressing the old wood. There was a bit of a rustling of cloths, an object being picked of the floor. The candle, most likely. Sherlock needed to see, so he moved as slowly and silently as he could to the edge of the rusty wheel. There were some holes there he could look from, so he did. Since it was dark, he could only identify a shadow of a body and some movement of hands. It was just when the person finally managed to light the candle that Sherlock had a clear vision of the face.

“Harry?!” He heard John exclaiming from the other side of the wheel. He was probably watching the whole thing too, like Sherlock. The blond stood up and his expression was one of stupefaction. Sherlock wished John had stayed quiet and not revealed their position but he understood the shock he must have been feeling, it was hard to control things like that.

Sherlock soon was on his feet as well, staring at the surprised face of Harriet Watson.

 


	19. Digging Paradise

“Oh John! Thank goodness you're really here!” Harry exclaimed.

“What are you doing here, Harry?” John asked, his eyes involuntarily narrowing in suspicion. He hated the slight mistrust he felt as he realised it was Harry that entered the mill. He didn't think his sister was the beast, he really didn't, but that was not a common behaviour and he couldn't help but having those kind of thoughts. “How do you even know about this place?!”

“Mycroft Holmes told me. He was at the inn. They apparently found a men who's been through the same circumstances as Ms. Hooper and I. I haven't seen him yet, though, he was in the next bedroom already when I caught sight of Mr. Holmes. He said someone will come to observe us because we have some sort of illness or something! I don't know! It's all very confusing.” She pinched the bridge of her nose. “But I asked him where you were and he said you had come here with Sherlock. I waited an hour but since you were taking too long to return I decided to come looking for you by myself.”

John's shoulders sagged with relief. She was telling the truth, he knew it. That relief only lasted a few moments, though, as soon as he realised she had gone there on her own. “Harry! Are you mad? How can you risk yourself like that? Walking completely alone at this time of the evening?”

“I wasn't walking, I was riding. So I wasn't completely alone, I had the horse Mrs. Hudson lent me.” She gave John a crooked smile. “You're my little brother, you came to the beast's lair and didn't return soon, what should I do? Of course I had to look for you!”

“Not on your own!” John contradicted.

“Well, it doesn't matter, John. I'm here safe and sound and so are you! Now let's go back to the house before the beast decides to come home.” Harry said taking John's hand and pushing him out. John looked at Sherlock who seemed deep in thought, and John knew exactly what he was thinking. When they were almost out of the place and Sherlock was still stuck at the same spot, John snapped his fingers.

“Sherlock! Come on!”

Sherlock blinked a few times, shook his head out of the reverie and walked outside with the siblings. Harry had the candle so she led the way to the horses. They each jumped on their respective horse and started riding away from there.

John looked at Sherlock. The curly haired boy still looked drowned in his own thoughts. That made him feel uncomfortable. This thing that was happening between Sherlock and him... He knew that wouldn't go too far. It could not. They were males. Not that John thought it was wrong. Quite the opposite, he knew it was perfectly fine. Harry always preferred women over men, and she used to have her secret affairs, but they both knew she would never be able to assume any of them. John always thought he was safe, that he wouldn't have to pretend like Harry. He was sure he only liked girls. That was until _h_ _e_ came to his life. He unleashed something that John didn't know he was holding. He had never felt attracted towards a person like he had to him. But then things got out of control. He wanted something John couldn't give.

After him John thought he would never feel attracted to another men again but he wasn't counting on the Holmes brothers to come into his life like natural disasters. Sherrinford was a volcano, Mycroft was an earthquake and Sherlock was a tornado. And John just loved it all, but he couldn't fool himself by believing that relationship would work. He didn't regret kissing Sherlock at all, but he hoped Sherlock knew that two men just could not be together. Society demanded them to marry women so they could continue their family names and that was what they needed to do. John could see himself marrying Mary, she was a lovely girl and had an open mind. It wouldn't be bad to stay with her, but then he looked at Sherlock again and that heartache came back. He would never be truly happy.

**__ **

* * *

After writing a letter to Llanor to inform them that one of their missing residents was currently hosted in Beddgelert, Sherrinford went upstairs to his father's cabinet. He looked through the corridor windows as he walked, the sky was very blue – it didn't look like it had rained like hell the day before. Sherrinford hoped with all the strength of his body that no one would die that day. The village deserved at least one day without anything bad happening. He knew it was unlikely, though, since they would have the dreaded gathering at the church to warn the village people.

“Father? May I come in?” He asked as he knocked the door.

“Come on in, son.”

Siger Holmes was at his table, he had a worried expression on his tired face. Sherrinford knew that -just like Mycroft – his father also took part of the blame for what was happening in Beddgelert. They felt every death in their hearts. Mr. Holmes was probably trying to measure each word he would say at the church meeting.

“Any news?” The grey headed man asked.

“No, thankfully. Lately the news have been all bad so it's better if we have none.” Sherrinford sighed, sitting on the chair. “Do you know where Mycroft and Sherlock are? When I woke up they were already gone.”

“Yes. Mycroft is at the church, he and some more people are helping with the organisation for the gathering. Sherlock grabbed some books and said he was going to Mrs. Hudson's. He is trying to find out how to prevent Ms. Watson and Ms. Hooper to have the same destine as the other girls from the Anglesey villages. Oh and Mr. Mair too, of course.”

Before Sherrinford could reply the door was opened and his mother entered so fast her light blue dress flew behind her. Neither men had time to ask why all the fuss before she started speaking. “Prince Ilywelyn! He is the one responsible!”

“Er... Mother, prince Ilywelyn has been dead for the past three centuries.” Sherrinford said, not understanding the conclusion his mother wanted to reach.

“Yes, thank you Sherrin, I know that!” She rolled her grey eyes. “This village is named after his faithful dog Gelert, that everyone knows, but do you remember the story?”

“Yes... The prince killed Gelert by mistake and could never forgive himself...” His father said. “Where do you want to get, Violet?”

“Well, what if the dog has something to do with this beast? I'm not much to believe in curses, you know that. Some of the neighbours are saying it's the work of the devil, but I don't believe in that either. Sherrinford told me the first beast was actually a man, and--”

“What are you talking about?!” Siger Holmes exclaimed.

Sherrinford covered his face with both hands. His brothers had asked him not to tell anyone else but Sherrinford was really close to his mother, she was one of the most intelligent people he knew and a certain night when they had had a bit to drink he told her what he saw at the morgue. Mycroft and Sherlock didn't know she knew and she wasn't supposed to let anyone else know. Now he had to explain himself to his father. Great. “Well, we went to see the beast's corpse at the morgue but when we arrived there there was no beast, only a man. It was like the beast had turned into a man after death. We don't know yet how that was possible, we only know it is true.”

“And when were you planning to tell me that?” His father scowled.

“I honestly don't know. Blame Mycroft and Sherlock.” Sherrinford shrugged. “It's too odd even for the Holmes.”

“Exactly! It's something we thought we would only see in books and fairy tales! But now it's real! So why couldn't the curse be real? The beasts attacks are only happening here.” Violet continued.

“Yes, but the man at the morgue wasn't from here and he had been bitten by another beast, which means they are originally from somewhere else. Besides, if our village was under a curse why would it take so many centuries to something bad to finally happen? And what kind of curse would that even be, mum?”

“Animals are sacred, more tied to the land than men will ever be. This is their place, this is where wild dogs used to live, this was Gelert's home and he was taken from it. He was buried where the old cemetery by the church is, what if the earth felt his bitterness and a dog feeding from the water near that spot was contaminated, then turned into this beast who bit a person that turned into the second beast? His mother kept talking, gesturing with bold hands. Antics Sherlock had inherited from her.

“Violet, you're not making sense.” His father shook his head.

“There is also the part where the prince's tear fell into the ground, that could also be part of the...” The woman hadn't stopped speaking.

“Mum...”

“It must have something to do with it, it must... If not, then wh--”

“Mum! Please. I have to stay on father's side this time. You're not making sense.” Sherrinford put his hand on her shoulder to try to calm her down.

“We need to dig his grave, Sherrin!” She almost shouted.

“W-What?!” Sherrinford took a deep breath. “Mother, first of all: Gelert is only a legend, we don't know if he really existed, that grave is more symbolic than anything else. Second, even if there is something buried there, how can we know if it is really Gelert? It can be any other animal they just put there.”

“Sherrin, son... Listen to me. This is important. Please. We must do that.” His mother looked at him in a way so deep and so sincere, her grey eyes were shinning with anticipation. How could he deny her anything when she looked at him like that?

**__ **

* * *

Giving orders was tiring. Mycroft had retreated to the sacristan's room so he could drink some water and sit for a while. He hated legwork, thankfully other people enjoyed it. One of these people was John Watson. Mycroft had no idea he would find the blond boy among the volunteers.

The church was going through a reformation, but it was the biggest place they had to gather everyone so they had to organise the mess and add a few more benches. John was very good at leading, Mycroft had to admit it was extremely charming to see him telling the others how to do something.

There was something wrong, though. Sherlock wasn't around. It was like John knew Sherlock would never go there and had volunteered only so he would not have to be with Mycroft's brother. The ginger had deduced from all the times John had anxiously look at the door every time someone else came in. He also hadn't talked much to Mycroft, hadn't even stared him in the eye. That was unusual. Something had happened. It could be only his way of worrying about his sister's well being, but no... It had to do with Sherlock. His youngest brother had also acted a tad strange that morning. More distracted than usual and when their mother had asked how John was doing he had blushed furiously. Sherlock never blushed so that was a sign something had happened.

Mycroft wondered what exactly transpired at the old mill. Sherlock had only said they hadn't found any proof about whoever is the beast. The older Holmes had figured it was a lie, he just didn't know the truth behind it. But apparently it had to do with John. That hurt.

“Mycroft...”

He was so focused on his own mind that he didn't notice the door opening. He turned his head to see John standing there, looking as lovely as before. Why did he have to look so lovely? That only made things worse. “Yes?”

“Are you okay?” The blond asked, walking towards him.

“Yes, just worried.” He said, and it was half true.

“Aren't we all?” John gave a weak laugh. “When we came here we thought life would be better... Easier.”

Mycroft looked at him but couldn't see his eyes that were staring at the ground. “I'm sorry, John. I... I don't know what else to say. Oddly.”

Then John finally faced him, dark blue eyes filled with sorrow but something else. “It's okay, you don't need to say anything. There is nothing to say. But... We will solve this. We will.”

The ginger Holmes wasn't sure if the boy was trying to convince Mycroft or himself.

They were silent for some moments until it started to feel too heavy. He stood up and put the cup back on the counter. He closed his eyes for a moment. He should do something. Speak something. John was right there. John wanted to be there with him. For once John had chosen him instead of Sherlock, but why? Was Mycroft really just second option after a fight? He rubbed his eyes with his right hand. All these doubts in his mind were clouding his better judgement.

“What happened?” He suddenly asked, not quite meaning to.

“Sorry?”

“At the mill. You and Sherlock. What did you do?” He knew he should stop, should apologise. It was none of his business, although he could claim it was since Sherlock was his little brother, but John would recognise it as the excuse that it truly was.

“Haven't Sherlock told you?”

“Not everything. What have you two done? Sherlock was _blushing_ this morning, John. Why?” What was he doing? The words were just coming out of his mouth, he had given up control for that moment. He walked closer to John, stopping a few steps away from him.

“W-What... We... Nothing! Whatever reason Sherlock was blushing it had nothing to do with me.” John said with a shaky voice. He was a terrible liar. The best people usually were.

“Oh yes? Then why are you blushing as well?” Mycroft closed almost all the distance between them. He cupped John's reddish cheeks with his both his hands. He had started something he couldn't stop.

“Mycroft... Stop. What is going on? You're not being yourself.” John tried to step away but that only made the taller man put his body even closer to his.

“Or maybe this is exactly who I am. I've always been so controlled, so correct... Look where that took me.” His face was just a few inches away from John's. He could feel the short blond's breath, it smelled of cinnamon and mint, Mycroft wanted to feel it in his tongue.

“I like you, Mycroft... I really do, but...”

“But you like Sherlock better?”

“I couldn't...”

“Tell me you don't want this, John. Tell me.”

“I...” John just looked at him with wide eyes. His pupils were devouring his iris, that was how Mycroft knew he wanted this as much as he did. Maybe not as much, but surely enough.

“Tell me.”

“Mycroft...”

Then he couldn't hold back anymore. He leaned his head down and kissed that beautiful mouth he had wanted for so long. It felt better than anything he had ever tasted. It didn't take long for their tongues to meet and they danced so perfectly together. Mycroft's hands moved from John's face to his waist, holding him tight in the safety of his arms. He could be like this forever. It was like all the problems they had were fading away until there was only the two of them in the world.


	20. Earthly Grace

Sherlock was disappointed when he arrived at Mrs. Hudson's inn and John was already gone. He felt a sharp ache in his heart, not only because the blond wasn't there but mainly because he saw how John was avoiding his eyes the day before. It was like he had regretted kissing Sherlock. Just thinking about this possibility made Sherlock shiver. He should have known. John was smart and unusual, but he still tried to follow the rules imposed by society. Sherlock didn't care about what people said, he couldn't let them dictate who he was. Of course he wouldn't expose himself involuntarily because he didn't want to die and lying down with other men was punished with death. So Sherlock could comprehend why John was acting that way, but it broke Sherlock's heart that he wasn't even trying.

“Mr. Holmes?” Harriet Watson called from behind him.

He turned his head from where he was sitting at the table. He had decided to read at Mrs. Hudson's reading room all by himself. John obviously didn't want his companion so he could at least use his time to try to solve some of the mystery. “Ms. Watson.”

“May I speak with you for a moment?”

“Yes, of course.” Sherlock stood up and pulled one chair for her.

He knew this would happen eventually. Harriet was very intelligent and much more perceptive than her brother. She knew of Sherlock's suspicions.

“Thank you.” She said, sitting down. “So. Did your brother confirm my story?”

She was right to the point, he appreciated that. “Yes. I haven't had the chance to meet Mr. Mair yet, though.”

“Me neither. Mrs. Hudson said he is still sleeping. Poor fellow, he ran for days without stopping, it's no wonder he is so tired.” Harriet smiled for a brief second before looking at Sherlock again. “Do you still think I'm the beast?”

Sherlock was out of words for a moment. He didn't know what to say and that was a very rare situation. He wasn't surprised to know Harriet knew the beast had a human form, and he couldn't blame John for telling her.

“It's fine, Mr. Holmes. I understand. I truly do. But you must know this: I am an honoured and proud person. If I were this creature I would rather end my life than keep killing innocent people. I believe whoever is the beast can't control their instincts when changed, so they murder. I would not let that happen, especially when that could put my brother in danger. I could never sleep closer to him without knowing if one day I'd wake up to find him dead and gutted beside me because I lost control in the middle of the night. You must believe that. I dare to say you would do the same.” Harriet didn't even blink.

Sherlock could not deny that, and he believed her, but it was his turn to say a few things. “These things started to happen when you arrived here. You were supposedly attacked by the infamous scarred man but you don't seem to be worried about what that entails. We found a blanket that had your perfume all over it at the old mill.” Sherlock clasped his hands in front of him on the table. “I believe your honour, and I believe you would stop yourself before you could cause too much damage. But what if you don't know you're the beast? What if you change, you go to the mill, you kill people, but you do it all on bestial instincts.”

“Do you really think that would be possible? Do you think I wouldn't have noticed already?” She sighed deeply and held her head with her hand. “Look at me. No wounds, no pains, no dirt on my clothes. Whoever is the beast must have some ugly bruises.”

“Oh Harriet!”

Mrs. Hudson startled them by entering the room holding a tea-cloth, looking anxious. “Oh I'm sorry, I didn't know you were talking.”

“It's okay, aunt. We were done.” Harriet gave Sherlock a pointed look. “Do you need me?”

“Yes, please. Can you help Maddie and I to prepare some tea and biscuits for us to take to the church? It will maybe calm people a little, with all this mess happening!” The older woman shook her head.

“Sure thing.” Harriet stood up. “Nice talking to you, Mr. Holmes. See you later at the meeting?”

Sherlock wasn't sure if he would go but he nodded anyway. “My pleasure. Yes, until later.”

She bowed her head and walked out of the room with Mrs. Hudson.

Sherlock was left alone with his thoughts. Harriet had a point. She had analysed the situation in a way Sherlock hadn't. He joined his hands beneath his chin, deep in thought. He had to solve the beast problem and the scarred man attacks. He wasn't still convinced that they had no relation. It was like someone was carefully planning the whole thing, having pleasure in making an entire village panic. Sherlock had solved some problems before, but of course he had never faced such a challenge. At first he was devastated, after all his closest relative was the first victim, but then he was excited when he realised that something interesting was finally happening in the village. Things had changed, though, and this excitement was replaced by frustration.

“Excuse me?” A soft voice came from the door.

Sherlock just would have no peace that day. There was only one person he wanted to talk to and that person was not the short dark haired man that was standing half in and half out of the room, as if unsure if he should bother Sherlock. He wanted to tell him that yes he should leave Sherlock alone, but then the curly haired boy remembered that might be the man who was attacked. “Are you Troy Mair?”

“Yes, sir. You're Sherlock Holmes, right? Your brothers helped me.” He still hadn't moved from his position at the door.

“So I heard. Why don't you take a seat?” Sherlock gestured to the chair Harriet was seated some minutes ago. When the man had finally arranged himself there, Sherlock started speaking. “I'm sorry for what happened to you. And I know you're probably exhausted both physically and mentally, so I won't question you again.”

“Thank you, Mr. Holmes. That's very thoughtful of you.” Mair nodded.

Even if Mycroft hadn't told him about Troy being a woodworker, it wasn't hard to deduce by his humble clothings and the way he bowed his head at someone superior. Not that Sherlock believed in superiority, but he knew people like Mair were taught since children to do it.

“How are you feeling? Any pains?” Sherlock asked. Sherlock didn't have to ask that to Harriet Watson, it was obvious she was feeling well, which just complicated it all.

“Not really. Just tired. Mrs. Hudson was sweet enough to give me some food and allow me to bathe.” Mair ran his hand through his hair. “Your brother... Mycroft, he told me I need to be under obs-obser-observation. Do you know why? Am I... Diseased somehow?”

“I don't know.” It was true and that was infuriating. Sherlock couldn't tell him that all the other girls that had gone through the same thing as Mair, Harriet and Molly had died. “But I will find out.”

Mair nodded but then he stared at the floor and bit his lips. He clearly wanted to say something but didn't know how. Sherlock had no time for that, but snapping at the man wasn't going to help it. He sighed and calmly said, “What is it? Do you want to tell me something? Go ahead.”

“I... I just don't want you to think I was hiding it. When I talked to your brother I was still very confused, I didn't remember everything... Now, after sleeping, some things came back, and I'm not trying to think too much about it because it seems like the most I try to see the details the less I can see them.”

“I understand. Go on.”

Mr. Mair took a deep breath before speaking. “Right before I escaped, when the man was standing and looking at me I saw something at his feet, a basket with some plants in, or maybe flowers, I'm not sure, I think they were white with some dark dots. I only look at them once, I was at their height on the floor so I could see it closer. It got my attention because it felt odd that a man like that had a basket of flowers... I didn't think much of it so I guess my memory erased it, but yesterday your brother told me that any small detail was important and if I remembered something I should tell any of the Holmes brothers.” He stopped and looked at Sherlock apprehensive, like he was a child expecting a reward for being good or a punishment for being bad.

Sherlock's mind was on fire. That was important, somehow he knew that was important... Flowers. Flowers. White, with dark dots... _Wait a second!_ He quickly stood up, picked paper, ink and feather from the top shelf and sat down again. Sherlock wasn't a very good artist, he could play violin like few but he had never bothered learning how to draw or paint, however he was trying to do as best as he could. When he was finished he held the drawing for Mr. Mair. “Is this the flower you saw?”

The man looked at it for a little while, narrowing his eyes, trying to see it back in his mind, most likely. Sherlock waited impatiently until the dark eyed man finally spoke. “Yes. Yes, sir. It seems so, very similar, as far as I remember.”

Sherlock grinned widely. He knew what to do.

**__ **

* * *

What didn't a son do for his mother. Sherrinford was not happy as he walked towards the cemetery, holding the shovel over his shoulder. He asked his mum if they could have at least waited to do that after the gathering but she was adamant. _“The sooner we do it the faster we'll solve it”_ , she had said. Sherrinford was impressed by how much she was believing in that. He couldn't blame her for fantasizing, on desperate times people tended to desperate measures. The idea that the legend of Gelert had anything to do with this whole thing was absurd, but so was the fact of a man who could turn into a killing beast.

Violet Holmes would not let him go alone, though, she wanted to see it with her own eyes. As they passed the church he realised people were already arriving for the gathering. Some of them looked at the Holmes son and mother passing by quickly holding a shovel, a very odd scene for sure, but they didn't say or tried to call their names. Sherrinford was thankful, he didn't want to explain he was about to dig the supposed bones of a supposed dog from a supposed legend to be the supposed solution of the bloody problem.

The grave was near a large tree at the centre of the cemetery. They took a moment to look at the dark tombstone written in old Welsh. It was part of their culture and of their lives even if it wasn't real. “Apologies for that, Gelert.” He murmured half teasing half serious, then he started digging it.

He didn't understand much about earth and these things but it felt like the ground had been touched not so long ago. As he kept doing his work he found it odd that it was easier than he thought it'd be, as if the earth was still soft from a previous digging.

“Didn't you notice anything strange? There was only a little grass on it. Look around, most old graves are completely covered in grass, and Gelert's being one of the oldest should be too.” His mother pointed, and it was right. That was suspicious but Sherrinford didn't want to put the cart before the horse.

He removed his coat for more agility and kept digging it.

It took Sherrinford a few more minutes for him to dig it all, but he succeeded it much faster than he thought thanks to the way the ground was. He gave the shovel to his mum and knelt down. There was a sac made of linen where for humans it would have a coffin. He grabbed it and was surprised to find it heavy. He untied the knot but when he looked inside there were no bones.

“So? Sherrinford? What did you find?” His mother asked from the above.

“Stones. Many stones.”

“Oh bloody hell. I thought...”

“But hold on. These stones... They're pretty different.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mum, I think someone took the bones away and left the stones here as a replacement.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here are some photos of Gelert's real grave:  
> http://www.pawsforawalk.co.uk/images/Articles/gelerts_grave2.jpg  
> http://www.messiejessieblog.co.uk/wp-content/uploads/2012/11/SAM_3561.jpg


	21. Holy Fever

Someone knocked on the door and John practically shoved Mycroft away. Mycroft looked at him with something similar to hurt in his eyes. John didn't want break Mycroft's heart but he had no choice. He walked away, giving his back to the door and grabbing the water jug. He betted his face was impossibly red, he probably looked flushed from head to toes. _What's going on?_ Two Holmes brothers had kissed him in less than twenty four hours and worse: he had liked it. Why didn't he stop Mycroft when he had the chance? Easy: he didn't want to. He knew from the start he was attracted to all three Holmes. But it was wrong. He kept telling him it was wrong while another part of his mind was screaming that was perfectly right.

He already had enough problems in his life, he didn't need these impossible love affairs, but he just couldn't stay away from them. He truly deeply cared about the brothers, all of them. Although there was one that felt more special, but still he would do anything to keep them well and apparently that was the opposite of what he did. It would be funny if it wasn't tragic the way he was always in the middle of chaotic forbidden feelings.

He heard Mycroft opening the door. “Yes?” He said to whoever was on the other side.

“Excuse me, sir. Just want to let you know the place is ready and some people are already arriving.” A male voice said.

“Very well, we will wait some more for everybody to arrive and then we can start. Thank you, Charlie.” Mycroft dismissed him and closed the door.

Nothing happened for a couple of minutes. John didn't turn, just kept sipping his water while Mycroft apparently was still standing on the same spot. The air was dense with words unspoken and doubts unsaid. John took a deep breath and prepared himself. When he turned to speak he was surprised to find Mycroft only a few steps away from him also ready to say something. They both opened their mouths again but stopped each other thinking the other would speak. John looked down and chuckled softly. How he still found will to laugh was beyond him.

“You're blushing again. But this time it's for me. Because of me. It pleases me to no end.” Mycroft was smiling when John raised his eyes.

John couldn't help but grinning back. “You're the one to talk. I wish you could see yourself right now, you're the colour of your hair.”

Despite everything they both laughed again. “Am I a better kisser than Sherlock?”

John's jaw dropped. “I can't believe you're asking me this! Mycroft! How do you think this makes me feel?!” The amusement was still in the air but John was half serious, he didn't like to remember all the implications of what he did.

“Just wondering. I apologise.” Mycroft put his hands behind his back. “But am I?”

“Mycroft! I thought you were more mature than that!” John shook his head.

Mycroft stepped forward and reached a hand for John. The blond hesitated for a moment but took it. John knew the ginger man was probably thinking about the same thing as him. What was going to happen from there? What did that mean? It wasn't fair to Sherlock. None of this was. John had decided that he would try to forget their kiss at the old mill, that was the best thing to do for the both of them, he knew it. So it was only right that he would act the same way with Mycroft. It was a mistake, something that they had wanted but should let it go. The world just couldn't handle these feelings. Especially when you were talking about Mycroft Holmes, future chief of a powerful family. He was destined to marry a nice woman and have lots of ginger children.

“John, stop.” The taller man suddenly said.

“What?” John asked, a bit taken aback.

“Thinking. It's obvious you're concerned about this, you should. I am too.” He breathed. “Usually I like to plan things, have everything under control. When I met you I knew you were different, it took a whole lot of time for me to admit to myself I had feelings for you. I never thought I'd act on them. I always ran away from romance, but how could I keep it to myself when you were slipping away through my fingers?” He squeezed John's hand. “Right now, though, I don't want to plan. It seems like lately my plans haven't worked very well so I think I should just enjoy the moment for a change.”

John swallowed dry. What did he mean by that? John wasn't sure how he felt. Relieved but worried? Glad but upset? Brave but fearful? It was all so confusing, and he wasn't expecting Mycroft to act like that at all. “I think that's good, Mycroft. I think you should do what makes you happy, but it's not that easy, is it?”

Mycroft frowned. “What do you mean?”

“Well... You know what they think... About people like us.” John looked down.

“I don't care anymore, John.” Mycroft tried to pull John closer but he backed away.

“No, Mycroft. We could die.”

“We would be careful.” Mycroft stepped forward.

“And live like that forever?” John stepped back. “Seeing other couples marrying, having children, demonstrating their love in public... Knowing I will never be able to do that? Do you know how painful it would be?”

“But we would have each other. Don't you think we would be happier together than living separately? We might not have as much freedom as “normal” couples do, but we would spend our entire lives with each other, between four walls we would do everything we wanted. It's worth it, John. It is.” Mycroft tried to catch John's hand but then again the blond didn't let him.

“I can't just jump on this, Mycroft.” John ran both hands through his hair. “I need to think. After I kissed Sherlock I was resigned to let it go, as painful as it felt. It's the right thing to do, I... I should not have kissed y--”

“No, don't say it, John. You don't mean it.” Mycroft looked hurt and John hated that he was the one hurting him. “You liked it. You didn't want to continue with my brother because you don't love him. But what we have is different...”

“I liked it, true. But I also liked kissing Sherlock, and... Don't tell me I don't love him. I do love him. He's my best friend.”

“But you love me differently. Don't you? You know how I feel about you, John. Don't run away from this. When we kissed it was... Perfect. I could truly _feel_ you, and I know you want me too.”

“I don't know, Mycroft... My mind is frantic. I love you, I do. And yes, the kiss was perfect and I do want you, but I'm not sure if I want you enough to risk everything for this.” John said and he regretted saying it the moment the last word left his mouth. It was a terrible thing to say, but he needed to do so for the sake of them both. He knew Mycroft was being impulsive and they would end up even worse when they realised society would never leave them alone.

Mycroft's eyes were glistening, but he put on that cold indifferent mask he wore to disguise his humanity. “I see.” He took a deep breath. “I think you're wrong. I think you're lying to yourself. But... Fine. I am not a big lover of begging and you seem pretty sure, so... I will leave you be.” He walked past John and opened the door. “See you later, Mr. Watson.”

John's heart broke with the thud of the heavy door closing behind Mycroft.

**__ **

* * *

“Mum, seriously, we need to wait until after the gathering. We already looked at it before like you wanted, now please let's do as I say.” Sherrinford was telling Violet as they walked into the church.

“Fine, fine.” She rolled her eyes at him. “But this is so important, I won't be able to pay attention to anything Siger or Myc will say.”

“Yes, I know, but we owe them our respect. Besides, it is proper for the entire family to be here.” Sherrinford gestured for his mother to sit down at one of the front rows of benches. The church was already crowded but the front seats were always reserved for the most powerful families.

“Yes yes, but since when do you care about propriety?” She arched her eyebrows. “Do you want to look nice for Mr. Watson?”

“What? Mother! No. Where did you take that idea from?” Sherrinford spoke maybe too fast and too defensively to sound sincere.

“Oh please... Where do you think your brothers took their observational skills from?” She snorted. “I want you to be happy, sweetheart. But apparently there's a line to court the young man. Oh and there is one of the strongest competitors.” She pointed her finger to someone behind Sherrinford. He turned his head and saw Mary Morstan walking towards him. She looked way too dressed for a simple village gathering. She didn't have many opportunities to wear her big city's dresses so Sherrinford couldn't blame her. The dress was French-like, light yellow with pink roses all over the silky cloth. Her hair was up and her face full of white powder and that red ink aristocratic women wore on the lips. Right next to her was Harriet Watson, looking more modest then Ms. Morstan but also wearing an orange dress that made it clear she wasn't from the small village.

Mycroft stood up and bowed at them. “Good afternoon, my ladies.”

Mary smiled and made a little reverence. “Afternoon, Mr. Holmes! And Mrs. Holmes, hello my lady! I found Harriet looking for a place to sit so since my family won't be able to come, I decided to invite her and John to sit next to us.”

Harry gave them a forced smile. “It's very kind of Mary. It's a pleasure to sit next to the Holmes family.” She said, and Sherrinford almost laughed at how fake that was. He couldn't really hold it against her, though. The Holmes could be very obnoxious.

“Of course, girls, come sit.” Violet Holmes gestured for them to sit next to her.

Sherrinford was left to sit closer to the corridor. He realised he was lucky, though, when John Watson arrived and sat next to him after bowing and greeting all of them. He was quiet and looked a bit upset, had a faint blush on his cheeks that Sherrinford found endearing even if John didn't seem to be in the mood for chatting.

It took some more minutes for the place to be almost bursting with people. It seemed like everyone who mattered was there. He could see the Morrisons, the Miles, the Hoopers, the Stamfords and other families too, his father and brother were already on the altar talking to each other. What Sherinford couldn't see, though, was his younger brother.

"Mother. Is Sherlock not coming?” He asked.

“Oh he better come! I told him he needed to participate more!” She sighed.

“Maybe he's just late.” Mary said.

“He said he would come last time I talked to him. At least that's what I understood.” Harry spoke.

“You talked to him? When?” John seemed a bit worried.

“Earlier today. He went to Mrs. Hudson's looking for you.”

Sherrinford could practically hear John's frustration. He didn't know what was going on, but there was certainly something going on between John and Sherlock. He didn't like it. If any of the brothers should have a chance with John that should be Sherrinford. Of course he had tried once and was rejected, but that was there and now things were different. He was ready to open his mouth to ask John if he wanted to join him for a cuppa or a drink some day but that was the moment his father decided to start speaking.

“Thank you all for coming today. What we have to discuss is extremely important.” His father clasped his hands together before he continued. “As you know, Beddgelert is suffering from the attacks of an unknown beast. Unfortunately we have lost three young people who will always be remembered and always missed: Demeter Holmes. Charlotte Graham. Luke Belford.” Siger closed his eyes and waited a minute as a sign of respect. “We don't know where this monster comes from, and we have tried to put it down. We managed to kill one, but we don't know how many more are there. And there is also another recent problem. We received letters from our neighbour villages, they informed us they had several young girls being kidnapped for no apparent reason. We had two similar incidents here, thankfully the ladies are all right but every care is not enough.”

Sherrinford notice how his father had avoid the part where the missing girls had all suddenly died. It was probably better not to bring that out so soon. The village already seemed pretty scared.

Mycroft walked forward and started speaking. “We don't know if the two occurrences are related, but we will stipulate some rules. If you do not agree then please raise your hand after I finish telling them.” He cleared his throat. “First, as soon as the sun sets down you must immediately return to your houses. You can only stay out at night if it's an emergency and you are accompanied by someone.”

Sherrinford sighed. That was a bore. A necessary bore, though. He loved to go out at night. Maybe he could sneak out without his family suspecting it. No, scratch that. He should also abide by the rules. He was trying to act more maturely, right?

“Second, you are not allowed to enter the forest on your own at daylight, and you are not allowed to enter the forest at all at night. Third, the area around the old mill is forbidden. Fourth, you must notify our family of any strange people you see around or anyone new arriving in Beddgelert.” Mycroft stopped for a moment, waiting for the people to whisper and speak to each other. The sound of murmuring took over the place. Sherrinford noticed that some agreed and others thought it too extreme. Mycroft clapped his hands. “Very well, we are happy to know what you think. You may raise your h--”

There was a loud scream coming from right beside Sherrinford. The entire church was startled by the noise. It was Mary, she had both hands on her mouth, eyes on the unconscious body next to her. Harriet Watson had passed out. Head falling back, mouth open and skin frightfully pale.


	22. Bloody Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, two things before you read it:
> 
> As I said before, English is not my first language so I know there were/are/will be lots of grammar mistakes. I'm sorry if this is bothering you too much, I really am. I'm looking for a beta, so if anyone wants to volunteer that'd be great!
> 
> Also, this chapter contains a little of "pseudoscience" that are based on true stuff but mostly made up by me, so just to be clear!
> 
> I hope you enjoy it (:

“Harry!” John stood up and Sherrinford gave him some space to kneel next to her. “Oh my goodness, where is the doctor?!”

Sherrinford immediately got to his feet and looked for Dr. Hooper who was already coming their way. He moved out of the row to let the doctor in. The man touched Harriet's forehead, then took her wrist. John looked impatiently at him. “She has a pulse, but it's weak. She is also burning with fever!”

“I don't understand. She was feeling well just some moments ago!” Mary exclaimed.

“We need to take her to my house. Here, help me carrying her...” The doctor held her legs and John grabbed her shoulders and waist. He could feel how warm she was through her heavy dress. She seemed fine just some minutes ago, wasn't pale or feverish. Sherlock had been a bit vague when John asked why there was a Holmes' servant keeping an eye on Harry at the inn. He only said that it was better to be safe than sorry. John knew there was something he wasn't telling him and the truth was John was afraid to know, concern only lead to paranoia and there was nothing he could do. Besides, Harry looked as healthy as ever.

While they were walking her out of the church, John could feel all eyes on them. He knew Mary, Sherrinford, the Holmes parents and Mycroft were following them. His heart stung a bit at the thought of Mycroft but he brushed that to the back of his mind. Harry needed his whole attention. He couldn't let anything happen to her, even though he had no idea of what he should do. _Harry can't die. She just can't. Please, Harry, stay with me. Don't leave me._ He didn't know what he was going to do if she died. It was always the two of them. She was his rock, his friend and the best thing in his life.

When they finally left the building, Doctor Hooper stopped. “We need a carriage, we can't carry her like that until my office.”

“I'll go get it!” Mycroft and Sherrinford said at the same time, before leaving together.

“Hurry up, please!” John shouted.

They lowered Harry to the floor. John sat down to let her head rest on his thighs. He caressed her burning and flushed cheek with his fingertips. She was breathing very slowly, there was no movement from under her eyelids. She looked so pale and her lips were starting to become a dangerous shade of blue. “Harry... Don't let go, okay? You are the strongest person I know. You can make it through. I know you can.”

He could hear some gasps and sniffs from behind him but he wouldn't fall into despair yet, no, he believe she could handle it. Harry wouldn't die. She wouldn't do that to him. She was always be there for him, she promised.

He felt a hand on his shoulder, he turned his head to see Mary, there were tears staining her makeup. She didn't know his sister very well, but he guessed Mary was just sensitive at seeing someone else in pain. “John... She's very brave, isn't she? If someone can survive this it's her.” She said and brought her handkerchief to clear some more tears from her cheeks. John narrowed his eyes, there was something odd with her face...

“Excuse me! Excuse me! Let me pass! Let me pass!”

John shook those thoughts away from his mind at the sound of Sherlock's voice. He was so focused on his sister that he forgot the fact his friend wasn't there. There were some complaining from the people around them as Sherlock bumped anyone standing his way to John and Harry. When he finally made it to where they were seated, John noticed the boy's hair was a mess, he had some grass and dirt on his clothing and he was holding a porcelain cup in his hands.

“John! She needs to drink this!” Sherlock said holding out the cup to John.

“Sherlock, what's that?” Violet Holmes asked her son.

“Tea.” He said simply. “Take it, John! She needs it!”

“Sherlock... Tea? Really? Do you think this is a joke?!” John snapped. He couldn't believe Sherlock would act so immaturely at a moment like that.

Sherlock sighed, stood up and walked around John, sitting on the left side of Harry. He moved John's hand from her face and quickly pushed her lips open, pouring the liquid inside her mouth. John didn't have time to punch or to protest or do anything, in fact. He just stared at Sherlock with an expression that could set something on fire. It got worse: Sherlock closed his palm on Harry's nose and lifted her head back, as if to make sure she swallowed everything.

John pushed him away with his free hand, glaring daggers at his mad friend. “What the bloody hell, Sherlock?! What did you give her?!”

“Holmes! What was that? You cannot simply --” Doctor Hooper had started speaking but Sherlock shushed him.

“Stop talking you two, and look!” Sherlock pointed at Harry's chest.

She was clearly breathing better. And to John's even greater astonishment she started moving her head, her eyes and mouth, as if she was having a bad dream and was about to wake up. John also noticed her colour was coming back to normal, she didn't look like a ghost anymore. Her lips were not blue and her skin wasn't so warm like before. _What's going on?_

Doctor Hooper took Harry's wrist again. He gasped. “Her pulse is almost normal, much stronger than some minutes ago.”

John raised his eyes at Sherlock who looked very pleased with himself. “What did you give her?” John asked again but this time much more softly.

“I already told you: tea.” Sherlock crossed his arms. “Tea made from blackberries and red clover.”

“Red Clover... You mean the flower?” Mary asked from where she was kneeling beside John.

“Indeed.”

“John...”

John quickly looked down when he heard his name being whispered by his sister. Her eyes looked tired but she was well and alive and that was all that mattered. “Harry!” He said, bringing their foreheads together. “I was so worried... I thought...”

“What happened?” She asked weakly. Her eyes roamed around them and John knew she was probably feeling very self-conscious being the centre of attention.

“You fainted. You were very ill. We were going to take you to Doctor Hooper's place but Sherlock arrived and... He healed you.” John said, looking at Sherlock at the last sentence.

“Thank you, Sherlock.” Harry murmured, turning her head a bit to face the curly head boy.

“No need to thank me. I'm just glad you're okay now.” Sherlock said, awkwardly polite. His eyes met John's again and the blond boy smiled and nodded, a silent gratitude in the air.

**__ **

* * *

“What the hell was all that about?!” Sherrinford shouted as soon as they entered the Holmes Estate.

When Mycroft and Sherrinford had returned with the carriage they were welcomed with a very different scene. Harriet Watson was on her feet, leaning on John for support, looking fragile still but extremely better than she was when they had left. They were also very surprised to see Sherlock standing there looking very smug.

Nobody told them anything, John simply thanked them for the vehicle as he helped his sister to climb in, entering it as well right after her. After Sherrinford watched the carriage go, he looked at his family who seemed as confused as he was – with the exception of Sherlock, of course. How was it possible that Sherlock had arrived there before them and with apparently the solution to Harriet's problem? How was it that Sherlock was always a step ahead of them?

The two brothers had left some minutes later, each with their respective horse, while their parents and Mycroft had decided to stay behind to talk to the people and help the vicar to close the church.

“What do you mean?” Sherlock asked cynically as he jumped off of his horse.

“The only thing I know is that you gave her some kind of tea. But I fail to see how a tea would cure her!” Sherrinford exclaimed, tying his horse to the stable.

“It was made from blackberries and red clover.” Sherlock said, sounding bored.

“Is that supposed to mean something? I don't even like tea!”

Sherlock rolled his eyes. “It's the antidote. Now come on, we need to prepare some more. Molly is next, then Mr. Mair.”

“What?” Sherrinford was dumbstruck for a moment before following his brother inside the house.

“They were poisoned! Just like the girls from the other villages! If I lived there they would be alive right now.” Sherlock explained as he quickly climbed the stairs.

Sherrinford was trying to keep up with him. “How do you know that?!”

“Troy Mair told me he saw some flowers next to the scarred man's feet. He described the flowers, I thought that sounded familiar so I drawn them up and showed him, he confirmed it. The name of the flower is Mountain Laurel, they produce a very toxic honey that is able to lower the blood pressure among other things, they are very pretty but extremely deadly. I learned about them when I was reading a book about bees.”

“So you deduced this man had poisoned them using this flower's honey? And how did you know what to use as the antidote?”

“He probably diluted it before injecting in them. The effects are not fast but when they finally arrive the person has only a few minutes of life. I made the calculations based on those letters you received, the days they said the poor girls had died had a pattern, I realised today was Harry's day, so I ran to grab the ingredients as fast as I could, luckily they are not so rare.” Sherlock stopped talking for a moment as he unlocked his bedroom. “Blackberries are rich in vitamins and Red Clovers are excellent detoxifier and blood cleanser. Their combination is perfect and the results are bound to happen fast if directly consumed. Thankfully I arrived there just in time.”

Sherrinford shook his head, completely stunned and proud of his little brother. “Sherlock, that was... Fantastic. Seriously, I guess they are right by calling you a genius.”

“Of course they are.” Sherlock smirked. “Now, help me prepare some more. We need to take this to Molly and Troy!”

“Okay, and while we do that... I have something to tell you.”


	23. Your voice, my nightmare

 

Sherlock studied the few stones Sherrinford had grabbed from Gelert's grave. He even forgot the antidotes' preparations for a while in favour of analysing the colourful little stones. What surprised him the most wasn't the fact they were different from most stones, but that he had seen them before somewhere. But where?

“So the bones were gone?” He asked. His brother nodded. “So whoever got the bones left these instead. Why? Why would they get the bones?"

“Mum thinks it's something to do with the dog's curse.”

“That's just foolish, it can't b--” Sherlock started but Sherrinford interrupted him abruptly.

“You'd say it's extremely foolish for a man to turn into a beast as well, but you witnessed it yourself. So tell me, what is it really foolish these days? What's fantasy and what's real? I don't know. But we can't just ignore something like this.”

Sherlock hated to admit being wrong but he hated even more admitting their brothers were right. He simply sighed and nodded. “I'm sure I've seen stones like these before. If I can remember then maybe we'll know who has the bones.”

“It astonishes me how you don't remember. You always remember everything but right now when you need to remember the most you forgot!” Sherrinford rolled his eyes, throwing himself on the sofa.

“I will remember. I assure you that. Something else distracted me, maybe.”

“Not something. _Someone_.”

Sherlock cleared his throat and shook Sherrinford's foot. “Come on. No time to be idle. We need to finish the teas and take them to Molly Hooper and Troy Mair.”

Sherrinford groaned loudly in displeasure but got up anyway. He had his back to Sherlock while he gathered the pots with the liquid inside when he heard a gasp. He turned his head and saw his little brother's eyes were wide and his mouth open like a fish. He put the pot aside for a moment and reached for the younger Holmes. “What's the matter, Sherlock?”

“I remembered. I know who has the bones.”

 

–

 

Harry and John were side by side at the bed, both looking at the ceiling, trying to understand what the hell was happening to their lives. John had his sister's hand in his. He just wasn't willing to let her go yet, not after that trauma. The problems with the Holmes brothers were also in his mind. What would he do? He wished he had listen to Harry before and just ran away from this town. But not really.

“John.” Harry whispered.

“Yes?” He looked a her, worried. 

“Stop thinking too much.” She smiled weakly.

He snorted. “I've been told that twice today.” And his heart ached a bit when he thought of Mycroft's broken expression. He had caused him pain. That's all he does. Cause people pain. He had no idea why they still liked him. He didn't deserve them. He didn't deserve his sister. He should have been the one killed by the beast, that would've been better for everyone.

“Look. Why don't you go get me some water instead of cheering your dark thoughts?” Harry said, giving him a quick peck on his cheek.

“Sure.” He stood up and kissed the top of her head. “Be right back.”

He left their bedroom and went downstairs to the kitchen. The house was quiet, he didn't know where Mrs. Hudson was. She came to see them after the incident, of course, she offered tea and gave Harry some blankets. That had been an hour ago, so she probably was away at a friend's house or buying something for the inn. He crossed the kitchen to grab a cup when he heard a small chuckle. The hairs at the back of his neck stood up immediately. He knew that sound. Without turning around he took a deep breath.

“Johnny boy...”

_Oh no. Please no. Please, may it be only in my head. Please, let it not be real._ He was afraid of turning around and seeing that face. His hands shook and his eyes were tightly shut. He heard the chuckle again follow by dreadful words in a dreadful voice.

“Miss you so, Johnny.”

“No...” John breathed quietly.

“I told you I'd find you. Come on, turn around. Let me see that pretty face.”

A single tear rolled from John's eyes. _This is happening._ He took another deep breath, put the glass down, tried to steady his hands and finally turned around. He knew who he was going to face but the sight still frightened him. “Jim.”

“Oh look at you. As beautiful as I last saw you. Why did you run away from me, love?” Jim crossed his arms.

“I didn't. You know it wasn't from you we were running from.”

“I don't believe you, Johnny. I don't. At all. You see, you knew my intentions, you knew how I felt about you and even after everything I've done for you you just decided to go away without a word. That's not nice.” He pouted, shaking his head.

“We owe you nothing! We paid you for what you did for us. We needed to leave London, you told us yourself.” John said more firmly. He kept telling himself that James Moriarty was just a man, only human like him. John felt stronger than he was back then when they first met. He was a fragile scared boy going through something terrible.

“I never cared about the money, you know that. I have plenty.” He shrugged. “I wanted you. I had you. I don't know how you slipped right through my fingers. When I told you that you needed to go away I meant go away with _me_!” Jim's voice got rougher and lower at the last word and John suppressed a shiver.

John decided to ignore that, to change the subject for another pressing matter. “How did you find me here?”

“I have friends.” He simply said, stepping forward.

“Friends? You--” And then John remembered. The man with the scar. He was right about his suspicions. “Your bodyguard or whatever he was. He's been around here. He's been... He's been killing people! Why, why? Why do you have something to do with what's happening?!” John was starting to panic. Was everything going on his fault too? Had Jim done that because of him? Did he have to add another line on his 'mea culpa' list?

“Calm down, Johnny. I don't want you to be sick.” Jim touched his shoulder and John flinched away. How had he got so close? 

“Tell me!” He exclaimed.

“All right, all right. Yes. Sebastian has been around the area. At my request, of course. But I didn't mean him when I said I had friends.” Jim was going to smooth his clothing but stopped mid-action when he realised the clothes he was wearing. “Ugh. I hate playing this part. Troy Mair. A woodworker!” He laughed. “I miss my silky robes. But that's okay, I'll go back to them soon. And you're going with me.”

John shook his head desperately. “No, I won't! Your bully attacked my sister! You... Are you responsible for the beast?”

Jim arched his eyebrows. “Oh the beast... I almost forgot about her. Yes. Well, in part. I mean, I might have created it but I'm not commanding her to kill all these young innocent people.”

John touched his hands to his face. He was confused by so many things. He didn't know where to start his enquire. “What? You created it? Her? And don't you dare! Don't you dare saying you're not killing innocent people. What about all those people Sebastian killed? That's on your account!”

Jim groaned petulantly like a spoiled child. “I didn't mean to kill them exactly... But they were too weak! I thought that since I created that monster I might as well create another kind of creature, one that doesn't go out of my control. But no blood was strong enough to deal with the toxins. Pity.”

“What? I don't understand. Why would you want that? And around here?” John's chest was heaving.

“I know what you are thinking, Johnny boy. That I did it all for you. Well, not exactly. I had already started doing that before I met you. You see, I'm not only a consulting criminal, I'm also a scientist and I looove to do experiments. Especially on people.” He gave that awful cynical chuckle again. “But it's true, when I found out you were here I decided to move my science this way. I didn't count on finding the Holmes brothers, though, they are quite interesting, I must say. I even give Sherlock Holmes the answer to heal the infected people, like your precious sister.” Jim grinned. “I knew you'd never forgive me if I had let her die, so I did the right thing.”

“The right thing!” John laughed bitterly. He wanted to wrap his hands around Moriarty's neck and choke him to death. “How did you create the beast? You need to stop it!”

“Why would I? It's quite fun to watch her go around killing these pathetic villagers.”

“The beast almost killed me, did you know that? If you care so much about me you need to stop it. If you created it you should know how to kill it!”

Jim clicked his tongue and raised a finger. “Ah! It didn't kill you, though, did it? And I knew she wouldn't. She cares too much about you. I admit I thought about ending her after I found out she had interest on you, but then I reconsidered.”

“She? You keep using female pronouns to talk about the beast! Why is it a she?!” John narrowed his eyes.

Before Jim could answer him the kitchen door opened with a loud bang. Sherlock and Sherrinford came bursting in, looking flushed and dishevelled like they had ran all the way there. John immediately walked away from Moriarty and grasped Sherlock's arm. “Sherlock, I--”

“John, I know who the beast is! You need to come with me now, I need you there!” Sherlock touched John's shoulder and pressed him to go, but John shook his hand away.

“No, wait! This is James Moriarty! He is the one responsible for the beast and all the deaths! Your father needs to arrest him. He needs to be put into custody! He's dangerous, very dangerous!” John said frantically pointing at Moriarty, who didn't seem fussed at all, if anything he was looking quite relaxed.

“Troy Mair? James Moriarty? I've heard of this name before.” Sherlock frowned for a brief moment. “You're a professor, aren't you? Of course! How could I have been so blind?”

Jim smirked. “It's John's effect on people. He can make us quite distracted.”

“Shut up!” John shouted.

The middle Holmes stormed towards Jim and punched him hard right on the nose. “I'm going to call father.” Sherrinford said, shaking the blood out of his red hand. “Don't let him go anywhere. This bastard needs a real punishment.” And then he was gone, steps fast until the front door slammed shut.

“You really think you'll get me so easily? Don't be ridiculous.” Moriarty snorted at Sherlock. “I wouldn't have let my guard down if I wasn't sure I'd win in the end.”

“You have already lost, professor. You're going to pay for everything you've done.”

“You need me to stop the beast...”

“Not really. I figured out who the beast is. We'll deal with her on our own.” Sherlock sounded very sure of himself.

“Who is she?” John asked.

“Think, John. You know who. You were suspicious as well but you just couldn't admit it to yourself.” Sherlock looked at him and his grey eyes held a bit of a rancour, but also fondness.

John breathed out. Yes. He thought he knew, but he didn't want to believe it. He pinched the bridge of his nose with his fingers and cleared his throat. “Mary.”


	24. Raging on

 

Sherrinford was cursing himself for not taking a horse. His face probably looked like a tomato, his clothes were shaggy and his hair messed, but he really didn't care at that moment. That whole freaking mystery was finally reaching its ending and he couldn't wait for it to be over and life back to normal. He just needed to go fetch his father and--

His thoughts were interrupted by the sight of one restless Mary Morstan walking down the streets. She was alone and clasping her hands in a very anxious way. _No wonder_. What should he do? He couldn't just let her go. But he also needed to tell his father. When she looked ahead and her light blue eyes met his the decision was made. He walked towards her, she made a confused expression at first and then her eyebrows shot up and she turned around immediately with hurried steps.

“Mary!” Sherrinford screamed running after her.

He knew how bad that probably looked to an outsider, a man trying to grab an innocent girl, - a man known for his promiscuity that is -, but he really couldn't bring himself to care that much. She was a good runner, but Sherrinford had longer legs. He managed to grasp her arm.

“Let me go!” She muttered.

“Stop. Don't struggle or I'll scream to the whole world you're the beast.” He whispered.

She had an indignation look on her pale face. “No one would bel--”

“Oh really? Nobody really likes you here, Ms. Morstan. You're the stranger in the village, I'm the son of the most respected family. Who do you think they would believe?” Sherrinford glared daggers at her.

She was going to say something else but stopped. She closed her eyes for a moment and took a deep breath. “What are you going to do to me? Who else knows?”

“Only Sherlock, John and I. Oh and your mate: James Moriarty.”

Her eyes widened. “You-- You know James? How-- John knows?”

“Come on. I'll take you to the Holmes Estate. We'll talk later. Trust me.”

 

–

 

“What's going on here? Ms. Morstan?”

Mycroft had just arrived at his home with her mother and father to find Sherrinford sitting on the sofa with Mary Morstan beside him. Neither one seemed happy about it, but Morstan had a very upset expression staining her brow. He also noticed that Sherrinford had taken their father's revolver and let it beside the sofa on the floor. A thought passed through Mycroft's mind but he shook it off, it certainly couldn't be.

“I'm waiting for Sherlock and John to arrive. I sent the messenger boy after them.” Sherrinford said, looking uneasy, eyes on Mary through his peripheral vision.

“Why?” His mum asked, going to sit on the chair across from them.

“Father, Mycroft. You better sit down too.” Sherrinford gesture them. After they did as were told – a bit suspicious obviously – they waited until the young Holmes crossed his arms and gathered enough air to speak. “That's not a simply way to say this, so: Mary is the beast.”

There was an audibly gasp from everyone in the room. Mycroft shook his head. It didn't make sense and yet it did. He wasn't sure if he was more surprise because he hadn't found out or because his brother had. “Do you have proof?”

“Mary! It can't be Mary, surely? She's a delicate flower, look at her. She couldn't be the beast.” Their father spoke, shock still in his voice.

“Yes, look at her, look at...” His mum was saying, inclining her body forward to get a better look at Mary, but then stopped mid-sentence when she noticed something on the girl's face. “Oh look at her indeed! Mary, that is one hell of a scar.”

“Violet...”

“Siger. Remember what Lizzy said? She hurt the beast on the face. Ah! Now that explains why you always felt the need to wear this awful French make up, Mary.” Their mum exclaimed, snapping her fingers.

Mary's face was a mask of indifference, but of course all the Holmes could see the façade. Mary was at a dead end and she knew it. She wasn't stupid to start mumbling excuses for her. She was accepting her fate and Mycroft could almost admire her for that.

“How did it happen? Did you get bitten by the first one?” He asked.

She shook her head. “No, I bit him.”

The Holmes brothers looked at each other. “That means you're--”

“The first one? Yes.” She simply said, voice low.

“Certainly it's not your fault? You're a damsel, you were the victim of--”

“It was an experim--”

She was interrupted by Sherlock and John running inside with a man tied by the wrists with a long piece of rope. Mycroft recognised the man as Troy Mair, the stranger that had been supposedly attacked. He frowned. “Why did you tie his wrists? What's going on?”

“James Moriarty. He's the one responsible for everything bad that's been going on.” Sherlock stated, roughly pushing the man to the wall next to the window.

Their father stood up. “Professor Moriarty? But why? How? How did you capture him?”

“Capture!” Moriarty snorted, rolling his eyes.

“He made a mistake, he underestimated us.” Sherrinford said stiffly. “He and his henchman have been killing the young women for an _experiment_ and apparently he is also responsible for creating the beast.”

“Oh Mary. Hello there. Good to see you're already here.” Moriarty spoke, a cynical smirk on his face. Mycroft noticed how everything about him changed from when he was playing Troy Mair. He was quite eloquent, his posture was straighter and he had an Irish accent.

Morstan frowned. “Why did you let them catch you?”

“He didn't let, we--”

“No. I know James. If he was caught it's because he wanted it.”

“She's right. Moriarty is smarter than he looks, we should be aware.” John commented, voice quiet and eyes down.

“Do you know him? Ho-- Oh, that's why you wanted to come here so desperately, James. John was the objective he kept mentioning. I could have never guessed.” She shook her head sadly. “What did you do to get his attention like that, John? I thought people like him were beneath you.”

“People like you too, you mean?” Sherlock snarled. “You knew how dangerous you were but you still tried to get closer to John. Tell me, did you even try?”

“John. That was a good question. How did someone like you meet someone like him?” Violet Holmes asked, standing up and crossing her arms.

“Mum, I think we have more important issues to deal with right now. We need t--” Sherlock was interrupted by Moriarty's loud giggles.

“Oh you didn't tell them, Johnny? They think you're a little angel still?” Moriarty kept laughing. Mycroft wanted to grab the revolver and shoot him in the head.

“I never claimed to be an angel.” John muttered. “And what happened it's in the past, it has nothing to do with today.”

“But you know that if they found out they won't want you anymore. I'm the only one who will ever love you no matter what. You know that.” Moriarty said in a different tone, a much lighter one.

“That's not tru—”

“You can talk about that later, boys. I'm going to take Professor here to Cardiff. Mycroft, please write to their officers and tell them I have the criminal. Sherrinford, if you could join me. I'll ask some of the other men to help me escort him. Don't forget the revolver, we don't know how dangerous he is.” Siger said, walking to take Moriarty's arm.

Sherrinford stood up but instead of going to his father he looked at Mary. “What about her? What will we do about her?”

“What about the henchman?” Their mum remembered.

“He's probably close. We'll sent a group after him.” Their father sighed. “And Mary Morstan... Is there anyway around it? Is there a possible cure?”

Mary shook her head. “I've been trying. I even got Gelert's bones to see if it might hold the answer, to see if the myth has any truth to it. It didn't work.” Mycroft noticed she had tears in her eyes. “I remembered every death, everyone. It was stronger than me, so hungry. I'm truly sorry for all the harm I have caused but I can't stop it.”

“You should have put an end to your life. That's what I'd do.” Sherlock screamed, eyes full of fury. “That was the only way, but you preferred to allow people to die instead.”

Now there were tears falling down her face. “I was going to. I was. But then I met John, and... He gave me hope. I looked at him and I could see a future with him.”

“A future where you'd ripped him to pieces while he slept?” Mycroft spat angrily.

“How did you do it?” Violet asked, seeming honestly curious. “How did you become such a monster?”

“I... I always liked to experiment. I have a mind ahead of my time, I was told. And so does James. I met him in Dublin a year ago. He was studying the rabies. It's a disease that usually happens in dogs and bats. They have an uncontrollable rage and aggressiveness, fear of water, wounds, foam in the mouth. It's horrifying. James had an infected dog there, it escaped the ties and bit me.” Mary closed her eyes as if just reminding of it physically ached. “It's worse in humans, if I hadn't done anything I'd probably be dead in a couple of months. But James was working on what I thought was an antidote...”

“No no no.” Moriarty sang. “ _We_ created it. You are a spoiled girl whose parents don't really pay attention to you, travelling around the world, looking for something meaningful. We spent quite some time in that lab working on it. We used some incredibly modern techniques most scientists don't know. The problem was... It did save her life. But it gave her another one completely.”

Sherlock hummed. He still held that annoyed semblance but it was obvious he thought all of that was quite interesting. Always the scientist at heart, his little brother.

“After I took the solution I got better for a moment, but then it all went to hell.” She wiped some tears from her cheeks. “Instead of destroying the bacteria, the potion made it to adapt to my organism.”

“Instead of being cured you became the disease.” Sherlock said, hands beneath his chin.

Morstan nodded. “It affected my entire body, it took control of my mind and soul. It was like I was just a host for it. And it kept getting angry and famished. I came home thinking it would calm it somehow. I don't know, I was lost. But... On the way here I attacked another village and bit a man. He was the beast who killed Demeter. I... I--”

“You need to die.” Sherrinford groaned. “There's no cure but death.”

“Sherrinford!” John exclaimed.

“What, John? Are you still on her side? Do you like her that much? She's a killer!” The words just spilled out of Mycroft's mouth without his consent, they sounded jealous and petty to his own ears.

“She can't control it! And it's not easy to just decide to kill yourself, can you imagine what she's gone through?” John continued.

“What about what the victims and their families went through? She needs to be stopped and--”

“Sherrinford...”

“--there's no other way to stop her, so--”

“Sherrinford!”

“I'm speak--”

“Shut up and run.” Sherlock murmurred.

“What?” The ginger Holmes narrowed his eyes at his brother and turned around.

Mary was changing.


	25. Shelter me

 

John didn't know how it happened exactly but Sherlock was holding his hand so tightly he thought it might break at some point. They were both panting and flushed, hidden behind a hovel at the Holmes Estate. Everything had happened too fast. Mary was under stress so it was no real surprise to John when she started to turn into the beast. Part of him – the part that wanted to be a doctor – was curious to see the metamorphosis, but he knew he couldn't so he and everyone in the room had just run away from the house. He wasn't sure where the others were. He thought he saw Sherrinford and his mum hiding behind a bush next to the fountain, but the sun was already behind clouds and he couldn't see them properly. He was worried about Jim. Mr. Holmes was holding him when it happened. He feared the Irish scientist might have done something to the man and then escaped. Maybe he knew it all along that Mary would snap. Maybe Sebastian was probably waiting for him somewhere nearby. He just hoped someone managed to leave the Estate and warn the people, write an emergency message.

“Do you think she's still here?” John whispered to Sherlock.

The dark haired boy was running his sharp eyes around the area. “I'm really not sure. I can't hear anything. She might have left.”

“We need to go then. We need to try to stop her.” John said urgently.

Sherlock nodded but when he turned to look at John his eyes were sad and worried. “Are you sure you're ready for this? You can stay here. I'll find my brothers and we'll deal with her alone.”

“Of course not! I should be there. I care about her, it's true. But we need to see what's more important. Her cursed life or the lives of everyone in the village.” John sounded confidant, too bad he didn't feel that way at all. His heart was beating so hard he thought he might explode at any moment.

Sherlock touched his cheek gently, a little smile on his full lips. “You're very brave, John. Never forget that.”

John wanted to kiss him really badly right then but he knew that wasn't the right moment. Besides, there was a lot he wanted to say, they needed to have a long hard conversation after all that mess was over.

Sherlock stood up slowly and dragged John with him. They walked through the pruned grass paying attention at their surroundings. The only things they could hear were the crickets and the wind hitting the trees. They continued on until they reached the front gate. The moment they crossed it a shadow jumped on them, grabbing John by the shoulders and almost knocking him down.

“My goodness, Sherrinford! You scared me to death!” Sherlock sighed, pulling his clumsy brother away from John. “Is mum with you?”

“She was, but she went to the Millers. Are you two okay?” Sherrinford asked, sliding his trembling fingers through his hair. “I'm sorry I stumbled on you, John. I'm anxious.”

“No wonder.” John muttered. “Don't worry, we're all nervous. But yes, we're okay. Have you seen Mary anywhere?”

“I just heard her passing by, I'm pretty sure she's out.”

“What about father and Mycroft?” Sherlock questioned.

“Haven't seen them at all. I'm worried about father alone with that criminal. But I think they managed to leave the Estate, maybe they're somewhere safe.”

“We need to find Mary, that's more important now. We'll deal with Moriarty later.” Sherlock said as he started to walk towards the street. Sherrinford and John followed right behind.

The place was oddly quiet. All doors and windows closed, not a single soul outside. It was almost as if... “She was here. She ran around here. Look, they're all inside, scared. Oh god, I just hope she didn't attack anyone.” John mused.

“If she had attacked someone I think there would be some kind of a commotion. She passed by, ignored them. I think part of her is looking for someone specific.” Sherlock told them while they quickly walked.

“I do think she has at least a little bit of control. She didn't kill me when she had the chance. I think the Mary in the beast recognised me.” John remembered. He should've known back then, the eyes were definitely Mary's.

“Who is she going after then?” Sherrinford asked.

“Jim.” “Moriarty.” John and Sherlock spoke at the same time.

“He started all of this. Both the beast and Mary hold a grudge against him, I'm pretty certain.” Sherlock said stopping abruptly on a corner. “Look, broken glass right there.”

They ran towards the store with the broken glass. When they got closer they noticed a trail of blood leading to the back door. They followed it slowly, minding their steps. John had a very bad feeling about that. The trail was thick and recent, it was like a body was dragged all the way while bleeding to death. He just wished it wasn't anyone they knew or anyone innocent. He almost didn't want to find out, what if...

When they arrived at the alley the back door lead to they all exhaled at the same time, part relief and part shock. Relief because the body on the floor belonged to Sebastian, Moriarty's henchman. Shock because the corpse was completely ruined, stomach ripped open and limbs missing. Mary had put some work into this one. John rested his hands on his knees and breathed in for some seconds. “If Sebastian was here, that probably means Moriarty was too, and possibly your father. Sherlock, any clues around that could help us follow them?”

Sherlock quickly looked around. It took him just a couple of minutes to realise something and then speed away without a word. John and Sherrinford looked at each other, both confused for a brief moment but then soon started running after Sherlock. The dark haired Holmes didn't stop, just kept going straight ahead while Sherrinford and John tried to keep up behind.

Suddenly John realised where they were going.

“Sherlock! How do you know they went to the church?!” He shouted a bit out of breath.

“If Moriarty's man was there it's because he had followed him there, like you said, and there was no sign of a rope anywhere. I know my father's strength, when he is determined there is nothing that can stop him, besides I think I remember seeing him fetching the revolver before we all ran from the house. I also...” Sherlock stopped talking to take a deep breath, John thought he was getting out of air, running and talking like he was. “I also know the church is my father's safe haven. He might not be the most religious man, but he always liked the calming that building has, he feels a sense of satefy there – don't ask me why. So I'm deducing he took Moriarty to hide from the beast there.”

John frowned. “But he couldn't possibly be faster than the beast! What if--”

“There was a different blood pattern back at that alley! It wasn't Seb's, it--”

“Mary's, or the beast's, well, they're the same.” Sherrinford exclaimed, breathing hard. He was running right beside John. “If father shot her then she's slower. Oh god, I hope that's the case.”

They ran for a few more minutes until they finally arrived at the church. John's mind wandered to Mycroft for a moment. Where was he? John only hoped he was fine whatever he was.

They slowed their steps as they got closer to the big front doors. John was no expert in noticing tracks or clues but he could clearly see that some kind of fight had happened there. There were some broken bushes spread around the front garden, some blood stains on the floor, and part of the door had collapsed as if someone – or rather something – had broken in. If that wasn't enough evidence they heard some noise from the inside. John closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing.

“I should go first.” He said.

“No way, John, yo--” “Are you cr--” The brothers began protesting, but John shushed them with a gesture.

“Now, shut up you two and listen to me!” He did his best to put on a brave voice. “Mary cares about me, like I said before, she didn't attack me when she had the chance, so maybe that can happen again. Maybe that part of her will recognise me again and she'll be calmer. Then you can act upon her. It sounds bad, I know, we're trapping her, but I don't see any other way.” John hated this. He hated what they had to do with Mary. He wished he could think of another way to stop her but he couldn't. They couldn't put her in a cage and let her there forever. And if Moriarty, one of the most renowned scientists, couldn't find an antidote then Sherlock, still an amateur, wouldn't. He sighed. _I'm sorry, Mary. I wish we_ _had_ _met before._

“I don't like the idea of you dealing with her on your own, not at all. But you're right. If anyone has a chance of distracting her that person is you.” Sherlock rubbed his face with his hands, looking tired. “Okay. Here's how we'll do: John, you enter first, it shouldn't be hard to locate the creature. Sherrinford, you and I enter through the scullery and attack her from behind.”

“How do we attack her?” Sherrinford asked.

“With this.” Someone said.

All three men turned to where the voice had come from. Sure enough a very distraught-looking Mycroft was standing there holding two torches in his hands.

“Mycroft! Thank goodness!” John sagged with relief.

“Brother! Good to see you! Is everything all right?” Sherrinford asked, touching his brother's shoulder.

“No, everything is not all right. But I'm okay. Here, you're going to need these to take her down. I'll enter with John.” Mycroft spoke and bless him, he sounded very calm, although John suspected it was more of exhaustion.

“You don't need to come with me, Mycroft. I can--”

“That was not a question, John. I _am_ going with you.” He said, not really looking at John.

The blond boy sighed. When a Holmes had something in mind nothing could change it. “All right then. Let's go.”

“Wait!” Sherlock called, walking towards him. He stopped for a moment, just stared at John. And then he cupped John's face with his hands and kissed him softly on the lips. “Be careful.”

John was speechless for a moment, he certainly wasn't expecting that. He nodded and smiled at his genius. “You too.” He then looked at Sherrinford. “And you too.”

“Okay, John, enough. Let's go in now.” Mycroft huffed and rolled his eyes at the scene.

“Let's do this.”


	26. Flames of Guilt

 

John and Mycroft entered the church as quietly as they could. The church was a mess and there was a strong smell of gunpowder and blood in the air. For a moment John wondered if Mr. Holmes had managed to kill Mary. He felt his stomach twist at the thought. Of course that was their objective but that didn't mean he needed to like it. There were some noise coming from their left, a continuous stump. John gestured with his head to Mycroft follow him there. The older Holmes was some steps behind him. He did feel much safer with him there.

They went downstairs to a door John was sure led to the basement, where the props and clothing were kept. The stumping was getting louder and louder just as John's heart was beating faster and faster. That was it. He couldn't back away now, he had to solve this. He breathed in. One. Two. Three. And breathed out. One. Two. Three. Four.

As soon as he turned on the corner he saw her. Just as he remembered, the image that haunted his nightmares for a couple of nights. She was banging her claws at the door, trying to break in. This door was different from the others, though, it was made of iron and copper and not wood. John guessed that Mr. Holmes and Jim were probably hiding inside. That was his time to act.

Slowly he approached her until he was about five steps away from her. “Mary!” He shouted.

The beast stopped her movements and turned her head to look at John. The blond recognised a bit of Mary in the blue orbs. He lifted his hands and tried to make his voice calmer. “Mary. It's John. You know me, you know my voice. I won't harm you. Come on. Please.” John said as softly as he could, backing away step by careful step. He could feel Mycroft's warmth behind him and he noticed that Mary's attention moved towards the ginger Holmes. “Mycroft... Please, go away. Wait for me with your brothers...” He whispered.

“No... I'm here to--”

“You'll help me more by going away. Sorry, but I'm afraid she might attack you if you don't go, and the plan will be over if so. Please.” John couldn't turn his head to look at the taller man but he felt a sigh on the back of his neck. To be honest he didn't want Mycroft to go, but he knew it was necessary. “Go now”, he murmurred again.

“Be careful, and don't trust her.” Mycroft whispered before stepping away from the corridor.

Mary rushed forward but John took one step towards her. “Stop. Wait. Here, here. It's me.” He reached his hand on her direction, to see if it worked, if she recognised him at all. The beast's eyes were focused on him and her position was still pretty much predatory. John wasn't so sure anymore that she wouldn't simply kill him right then, maybe that night in the forest was just a lapse. “Mary Morstan. I know who you are. Who you really are. Come on, look at me. It's John. Come with me. You'll be fine.” John took some steps back, never taking his eyes off of hers. He slowly kept going back to the main hall, she was following him but her teeth was still bare, her claws sharp. But John knew then that at least a small part of her mind remembered John, if she didn't then she'd attacked him by then. “There you go. It's okay. You don't need to be angry.”

They kept going slowly until John realised they were back to the hall. He thought that the Holmes brothers were probably hidden there somewhere. They didn't agree on any sign, but John knew they would attack Mary as soon as they had the opportunity. “That's it, Mary. I'll help you, okay? Just keep coming.” John continued to speak as he walked backwards. When he finally felt one of the church benches hitting his hips, he stopped. He reached his hand and she came closer so he was able to touch her fur. It wasn't exactly soft to the fingers, but he put all his fondness to the act. He closed his eyes for a moment. “I'm sorry, Mary.”

Right then he heard loud steps and sure enough the Holmes brothers were jumping on her. It all seemed to happen in slow motion to John. He just stood there, feeling like the worst traitor in the world.

–

Sherlock watched as Sherrinford threw the rope they had found at the pantry on the beast. It circled her head while Mycroft caught the other side and threw it again so Sherrinford would catch. That way they managed to get a strong grip on her neck, they pulled hard on it, knocking her to the ground. Sherrinford took a bottle from his robes and emptied the content on her. Sherlock knew she would be able to free herself eventually if he wasn't quick so he grabbed the two torches and ran towards her front as fast as possible. He was prepared for what he had to do but he wouldn't be proud of it. No, he didn't hold much sympathy for Mary Morstan, but still... It was a life he would take, a burden he'd have to carry, John's sad eyes he'd have to face. He knew, though, they had no choice. And he also knew that Mary was aware of that. She couldn't kill herself but she was smart, she realised she needed to die. There wasn't a cure, there's wasn't any other way...

“Sherlock! What are you waiting for?!” He heard Mycroft shouting.

The younger Holmes shook his head. He had to do it, so he did. “Apologies”, he whispered as he threw one torch at her back and the other at her chest. Fire always ended everything so perfectly. His grandfather used to say, “if you want something to end permanently, set fire to it”. Sherlock was so entranced with the fire he only realised John was passing by when he felt his hand touch his arm. The blond had a knife on his hand, probably the one he carried around, Sherlock had even forget about that. He watched as John walked towards Mary's burning body. She was still squirming and whimpering, it wasn't pretty to see.

John knelt in front of her. “Forgive me. Know that I will always remember you.” He said as he quickly shoved the knife into her throat, giving her a merciful death. He stood up and walked past the brothers, sitting on a bench, elbows on knees and head on hands. He seemed devastated. Sherlock wanted to go and hold him tight, tell him he did the right thing, that he was so brave and he shouldn't feel upset. He couldn't, though. Not yet. He had to see through this. He had to keep his eyes on her corpse even if out of respect.

They spent some minutes there, the smell was getting worse by the second but they had to wait until it was finished, there was no way. Suddenly then they heard a loud noise coming from downstairs, it sounded like a door being opened. They all turned their heads to see their father walking towards them, hand on his stomach, some blood on his face.

Mycroft got away from the fire to aid Mr. Holmes. “Father! Are you okay? Are you hurt?” He asked as he helped his father to sit on a nearby bench.

Sherlock rolled his eyes. Mycroft asked the most ridiculously obvious questions when he was worried. Of course his father was hurt. By what Sherlock could see there was a thick gash on his belly and a cut from his eyebrow to his lip.

“I'll be fine, I don't think it's serious.” The older man said with a sigh. He then raised his head to look at the beast's burning carcass. “Congratulations, my sons. You got her. I'm just sorry she had to end this way. What are we going to tell her parents?”

Mycroft was answering him something but Sherlock wasn't hearing anymore. His mind was on something else. Something was wrong. He frowned. “Father. Where is Moriarty?”

His father froze for a moment and then his face contorted into a grimace. “He did this to me. We were already here, running from her. I thought that for a moment we were at the same side, had the same objective: to escape her fury. But I was wrong. Of course, how foolish was why.”

Sherrinford approached their father and touched his shoulder. “What happened?”

“I got distracted for a moment, it was enough for him to attack me and run away. I couldn't go after him, I was weak, I only managed to hide into the basement, I knew I would be safe behind the iron door.” He touched his fingers to the bridge of his nose, a very Holmes move. “I'm sorry. I lost him.”

“It's okay, father. You couldn't do anything. Come on, we need to take you to the doctor.” Mycroft spoke as he tried to pull his father to stand up.

“Wait!” Sherrinford exclaimed. “Oh no, no, not again!”

“Not again what?” Sherlock arched his eyebrows.

“We were too focused on something else and forgot about John!”

“I haven't, he's right there...” But just as Sherlock pointed towards where the boy was sat a few minutes ago he was surprised with an empty space. “Oh bloody hell.”

“Where is him?”

“Do you think...?

“Yes. Moriarty.” Sherlock said grimly.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all for reading! Leave a comment if you want to, I'd love to know what you think (:

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Beast of Beddgelert](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5900356) by [Luthien_00](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Luthien_00/pseuds/Luthien_00)




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